Paradox
by VictorVictoria
Summary: Cassandra Fisher is strange indeed. She's human, but has magic. She doesn't believe in spirits, but can still see them. How did this happen? WHY did it happen? The Guardians aren't the only ones who want to know. (Rated for strong language throughout & potentially disturbing content and imagery in later chapters. Please heed chapter warnings. No romance/pairings).
1. Troubles

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do NOT own _Rise of the Guardians_ in any way, shape or form.

Sooooo, here is my second attempt at a fanfic. Dun dun dun! Two things: First, just as an FYI, this is in no way associated with the books, as I have not read them. If you're disappointed by that, I apologize, but I hope you find some enjoyment from my fic anyway. Second, for those of you who have read _Starfire,_ my other fic, please keep in mind that this story has no connection to that one. Completely different animal, as they say.

Also, the rating and/or genres may change as the story progresses, depending upon how the inspiration stick strikes me. As of now it's rated T for language, but do check back on that from time-to-time, though of course I'll also provide warnings if/when they do change so you don't get any weird surprises.

Anyway, please enjoy, and, of course, reviews are always welcome. :D

* * *

"No, mom no!"

"Where the hell did you even _get_ all these?!"

"STOP MOM! THEY'RE MINE!"

"They _can't_ be all yours! Just look at them all!"

Of course they weren't all hers. No child had that many teeth. Somewhere deep down, six-year-old Cassandra knew that hoarding teeth like that was weird, but she just couldn't help it. It wasn't something she chose to do or really even _wanted_ to do. It was instinct, pure and simple, an impulse she hadn't been able to deny no matter how hard she'd tried. Her mother had no idea how hard she'd fought the urges before finally giving in, nor how incredibly stressful and time-consuming it had been to steal them all. They'd been pilfered from backpacks at school, where the nurse sealed them up in little envelopes for safekeeping, or lifted from pockets or taken right out from under kids' pillows while the unsuspecting owners slept. For months she'd kept them carefully hidden in the back of the unused living room fireplace, but somehow her mother had stumbled upon them.

In her anger, Ms. Fisher shook the little plastic baggies, causing the teeth to rattle. Cassandra leapt and snatched at them, desperate to take them back, but her mother held them just out of reach. They were so tantalizingly close, Cassandra found herself shrieking in frustration and desperation.

"They're MINE!"

"NO THEY'RE NOT!" her mother screamed back. While one hand dangled the baggies of teeth over her daughter's head, the other continued to dig around in the back of the fireplace for any more that might be hidden. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Why do you even have these?! It's disgusting!"

Sobbing hysterically, little Cassandra scratched and punched at her mother, struggling fruitlessly to retrieve the teeth. Satisfied that the fireplace was now empty of plastic baggies—and, more importantly, teeth of unknown origins—Ms. Fisher straightened up, pushed her daughter aside, and marched towards her bedroom. Cassandra just screamed even louder. She jumped up to attack her mother again, only to be roughly shoved away once more.

"Stop screaming!" her mother hollered. She was red-faced with fury. "Just look at yourself! You're acting like an animal!"

"GIVE THEM BACK!"

"NO! And I won't hear any more about it!"

The bedroom door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place. Trapped out in the hall, Cassandra pounded and kicked and screamed for several long minutes before reluctantly giving up. Knowing her mother as she did, she knew the woman wouldn't come out until dinnertime, if she came out at all. Most times when they fought, Ms. Fisher didn't reemerge until the following morning, sequestering herself with the T.V. and computer until the alarm clock reminded her that her daughter had to get ready for school. Weekdays for her mother meant eight hours of peace and quiet, otherwise she probably wouldn't _ever_ come out of that stupid room.

Giving the door one final, frustrated kick, Cassanda stalked back to her own bedroom and slammed the door. Panting, her throat sore from screaming, she raked her fingers through her hair in pure frustration. Then she grinned wickedly.

Her mother could lock her out, but she couldn't impede her daughter indefinitely. For all her faults, Cassandra Fisher was an extremely patient child…something else she knew was considered highly unusual in children her age. She had no problem waiting through the long, silent hours until her mother took her evening shower. She even went into the kitchen and fixed herself a bowl of cold cereal when, as she'd suspected, Ms. Fisher failed to come out for dinner. She was more than used to fending for herself, though leaving that splatter of milk on the floor was probably uncalled for. But she left it anyway. It matched the pigsty that was the rest of the kitchen.

After her cereal, Cassandra climbed into bed. Brown eyes fixed unblinkingly upon the ceiling as she waited…and waited…and waited…until, at long last, she heard the tell-tale sound of water flowing through the pipes. A faint smirk touched her mouth, exposing the depth of her smug satisfaction. Hopping out of bed, she abandoned the faint ribbon of moonlight gathering on the covers in favor of the dark shadows in the far corner.

She still wasn't very good at this sort of thing yet, but she could get around the house well enough thanks to a _lot_ of practice. In times like these, when her mother was being wholly unreasonable, she was infinitely grateful that she could manage it at all. Closing her eyes tight, Cassandra concentrated with all her might and sank into the shadows. For a brief moment of time she felt bodiless, weightless, completely and utterly free. But then she opened her eyes again and found herself looking out into her mother's room. The only light available filtered through the half-closed bathroom door, giving the room an eerie half-glow. But Cassandra didn't mind. She much preferred the darkness, and always had. Darkness was quiet and still, it made her feel warm and safe and happy.

Nothing bad ever happened to her at night, quite unlike during the day.

Her tooth collection was in the garbage, where she knew it would be. Cassandra's grin went unseen as she still possessed no physical body. A long shadow spread across the bedroom floor, one that strongly resembled a disembodied arm. A hand soon appeared at the end of that arm, dark fingers reaching into the garbage bin to pluck out the baggies of treasured teeth. The shadow quickly retracted, and with a bit of effort Cassandra reappeared, fully-formed, in her bedroom, clutching the tooth collection to her chest.

Success! Now for the hard part…

Hurrying to the window, she pushed it open, climbed up onto the sill, and jumped down to the ground. It was early December, and the snow bank reached her knees, but neither of these facts bothered her one bit. Her immunity to the cold was just one of the many strange, inexplicable things about her that she simply enjoyed to the fullest possible extent. Raising her hand and gathering her power, she called upon the wind. All of a sudden, she felt feather-light (a whole different sensation from the out-of-body weightlessness she experienced whenever she disappeared into shadow) as the wind obliged in lifting her skyward. Flying higher and higher, she had to suppress the urge to whoop with glee. She relished in flight (it was the one thing that could rival her love of the dark), and tonight was perfect for it! Cloudless starry skies, just the right bite of cold, and a shimmering silver half-moon to guide her way.

But out of all her powers, flight was by far the most dangerous, for unlike the others she could only utilize it if she were out in the open. And that, of course, was always a risk. Being careful was the only reason she'd made it this far without being discovered, and even now, as she soared over snow-covered rooftops, she kept well above any windows or streetlamps just in case somebody happened to glance outside. As much as she adored the freedoms given to her by her magic, even at her young age she knew better than to flaunt them. It was bad enough her mother and everyone else treated her like a freak (though her teachers often categorized her under the more acceptable adjective "quirky"); the last thing she wanted was to see their reaction if they discovered even the half of what she was capable of.

Gritting her teeth, Cassandra urged the wind to take her faster. She soared over the St. Lawrence River, on a direct course to one of the many islands that dotted the boundary between the northeastern U.S. and Canada. Here she could relax a little. This late in the year, she knew there would be hardly anyone around. Most of these homes were seasonal, after all, possessing dark, empty windows and locked doors. No boats were buoyed to the docks, beaches lay abandoned until summer, and the edges of the river were tinged with a thin coating of brittle white ice. As long as she didn't get too reckless, she should be able to make it across the open expanse of sky and water without being detected.

The island she needed was closer to the Canadian side, and uninhabited. Trees grew thick there, but when Cassandra landed in the midst of them it took only a moment for her to find the right one. Having been here numerous times before, she knew the island like the back of her hand. Besides, she could see in the dark just as well as she could in daylight, so the lack of illumination didn't bother her in the slightest. The moon and stars were more than enough. She reached down into a large knothole near the foot of the tree and pulled out a small metal box. Inside were all her treasures, pathetic little trinkets most would disregard as trash but Cassandra kept them, anyway, because there were meaningful memories in each and every one. She tucked the baggies of teeth amongst them and carefully returned the box to its hiding place.

Just as she was about to summon the wind to lift her skyward again, her keen ears picked up on something. She paused, listening. Then she tilted her face skyward to sniff at the air, grimacing as the distinctive smell of fuel and dirty metal hit her nose. It was a ship, likely a large container vessel. Cassandra leapt lightly up the tree to get a look, and stifled a groan. The loaded ship was passing fairly close to her island as it headed up the river towards the Great Lakes. Watching it slowly motor along, she pondered over her options. As dark as it was, she could probably get away with flying home again, but after a bit more consideration she decided against it. She simply couldn't risk detection. It was one thing to be called a freak, but to actually be caught doing something that should have been completely impossible for humans wasn't something she could just explain away.

 _Better safe than sorry._

Forgoing her flight plans, she instead dropped to the ground and jabbed her heel into the partially-frozen earth. A small symmetrical hole opened, revealing a dark tunnel, and she jumped inside without hesitation. A wide grin spread across her face as she slid along, quickly gathering speed, before the tunnel eventually leveled out and she glided to a stop. Brushing dirt off her pajama bottoms, Cassandra got to her feet and started to jog. This was the part she hated, so thankfully it didn't take too long. In just a few minutes she was hoisting herself up over the lip of another hole and into her room. As soon as she was out, the opening closed up without a trace of ever being there, not even a single speck of dirt on the floorboards.

Flushed with exhaustion and triumph, she collapsed onto her bed. With a contented sigh, Cassandra turned over onto her side and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, tucking the edges under her chin. With a practiced twirl of the wrist, she summoned the yellow sand that helped her sleep and flicked through the different images, trying to decide what she wanted to dream about tonight. In the end, she settled on a flying dream, which she sent over her own head with a careless flick. As soon as the first golden grains touched her hair, she was sound sleep, and dreamed of nothing the entire night but soaring across beautiful starry skies.

Unbeknownst to little Cassandra Fisher, slumbering peacefully in her bed, her precautions that night failed to prevent discovery. No sooner had she fallen asleep, a pair of large golden eyes appeared in the corner of her room. Simmering in the dark, those eyes were soon accompanied by a wide, leering smile full of sharp, crooked teeth.

* * *

Five years later, eleven-year-old Cassandra climbed the steps onto the bus that would deliver her to the hell that everyone else called school. She took her seat, which was directly behind the driver and, conspicuously, the only one on the entire vehicle that wasn't occupied by at least two children. The school had ordered it to be that way in the hopes of sparing themselves anymore headaches, but nevertheless Cassandra Fisher endured more than fifteen minutes of snarky remarks, jeering whispers, snickering, and more than a few projectiles. Paper clips and paper wads were favorites this year, but bits of broken eraser, pen caps, and even chewed up gum were common enough assailants that she could identify them purely by the sound they made when they hit the back of her coat. She kept her hood up, her head down and her mouth shut, enduring the harassment in gloomy silence. She occupied herself by watching the world go by and wishing she was literally anywhere else.

School was just a repeat of the bus ride, only on a much larger scale. Now the kids were competing with one another, seeing who could get away with the most outrageous attacks without getting caught by the teacher. Toby Allensworth, in particular, was on a campaign that Tuesday morning. He seemed determined to waste his entire notebook on spit-wads, which he shot across the room using a strategically disassembled pen. By mid-morning Cassandra was surrounded by fallen bits of paper, which the teacher inevitably noticed. He gave her a verbal lashing over being a slob and wasting 'valuable resources' before ordering her to clean up the mess.

She endured the entire lecture without saying a word, and picked up the disgusting bits as she was told, but let the man know through her dark, brooding stare that she really didn't give a damn what he had to say. Cassandra Fisher didn't keep her mouth shut because she was a doormat, as most people thought. No, she kept her mouth shut because she knew if she got riled up, she would do something stupid, and the last thing she needed was to give her mother another excuse to scream at her.

By lunchtime, though, the harassment was beyond unbearable. Toby Allensworth and his friends purposefully chose the table directly behind hers, as always, so they could continue to assault and berate her. Most of the boys at the table took a couple of shots at her with their straws before busying themselves with their food, but fat-faced Toby just wouldn't let up. Cassandra tried to eat her chicken noodle soup in peace, but the constant puffing of wet paper-wads hitting the back of her coat was driving her insane. Her expression remained a well-practiced blank, but inside she was seething. Were the cafeteria monitors blind? There were three of them standing right there!

One of them finally made their way over, but instead of telling off the table of rowdy boys she grabbed the back of Cassandra's coat hood to unceremoniously yank it down.

"No head coverings in school," she barked without even stopping.

The boys at the other table—who halted their antics the moment the monitor came by—grinned and cackled and slapped each other on the back, proud of their cleverness. Cassandra felt her anger boiling up, threatening to burst right out of her. It wasn't fair! And when yet another spit-wad struck right behind her ear, she'd finally had enough.

Rising smoothly, Cassandra picked up her tray and walked casually towards the garbage bins at the back of the cafeteria. This path took her right past the boys' table, and she stopped next to Toby. He looked up at her with a smug smirk. When she didn't move or speak, he taunted her by saying, "What is it, Fisher? Got something to say to me?"

For a moment she said nothing, did nothing except to stare silently down at him with a completely unreadable expression on her face. Then she smoothly upended her tray and dumped chicken noodle soup all over him.

Toby Allensworth howled as the hot food scorched him. While he jumped about flapping his arms like a startled chicken, his best friend, Anthony Tompkins leapt out of his seat to defend him.

"The hell was that for Fisher?!" he shouted. Hands came up to shove at Cassandra, but she didn't even flinch. Cool as ice, she took the now empty lunch tray in both hands and slammed the bottom of it right into his face.

Lips smashed against teeth, blood flowed freely, and Anthony Tompkins joined his friend in anguished shouting. Cassandra just stood there watching them, until a hand grasped her hard around the collar and dragged her away towards the principal's office.

* * *

The driver's side door of the Fishers' green sedan slammed shut, and for a long moment Ms. Fisher sat there without moving. Every breath she took was audible in the heavy silence, but Cassandra didn't really care. Her mother was always upset about something, so she knew perfectly well what to expect.

"The fuck Sandra," she finally hissed. Lifting her ass off the seat to dig into the back pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a box of smokes and lit one with a lighter from the cup holder. Exhaling gray smoke on a sharp breath, she repeated more quietly but with just as much vehemence, "The fuck, Sandra. The hell did you do that for?"

"They wouldn't leave me alone," she offered weakly, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

It didn't.

"Fuck," her mom cursed, taking another long drag. The windows were all closed, and Cassandra felt like she was about to puke from the noxious smell. She didn't dare mention the fact that smoking was forbidden on school property and that they were still parked right outside the front doors.

The two of them sat in stony silence while Ms. Fisher finished her cigarette. Once the stub was stamped out in the ashtray, the woman turned the key in the ignition, threw the car into gear, and sped out of the parking lot, completely disregarding the fifteen-mile-per-hour speed signs.

Later that night, as she headed back to her room after yet another dinner of cold cereal, Cassandra passed by the living room and overheard her mother talking on the phone.

"I don't give a rat's ass if you don't have room. Make room! I don't want her here anymore!"

Even though her stomach felt cold, she paused in the dark hallway to listen.

"I really don't give a fuck what that bitch Carol thinks! I've put up with this shit for eleven fucking years and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of it Randy! If you don't take her I'm gonna dump her in foster care, see if I don't! See if I don't, I'm dead fucking serious!"

Swallowing thickly, Cassandra returned to her room and closed the door. Climbing into bed, she pulled up the covers and lay there for what felt like hours, wondering at the sudden numbness in her body. She knew she ought to think about what was happening, but her mind was an imposing blank right now, making coherent thought impossible.

Drawing a deep breath, Cassandra closed her eyes, concentrated hard, and allowed her body to sink into darkness. Shadow immediately surrounded her, pressed against her body like a warm, comforting embrace, and she let out a long sigh of contentment. This was her sanctuary, her own private retreat. It was quiet, peaceful. It was empty and safe and, best of all, completely free of her mother's toxic presence.

This was the only place she'd ever felt truly at home.

Cassandra floated in that dark, peaceful expanse, drowsing happily for quite some time. Then the tranquil bliss was interrupted by something she'd never experienced before: A hand grabbing hold of her ankle. With a gasp, she bolted upright, only to slam her head into something hard. Rubbing the growing lump on her forehead, she peered up through the gloom and realized she'd somehow ended up under her bed.

Huh. That had never happened before.

Then again…she'd never felt anyone else inside that shadow-place before either.

She pondered over that, wondering just how in the hell someone else could've gotten into what she'd assumed (up to that point at least) to be a place only _she_ could access. She knew she hadn't imagined that firm grip, but she just couldn't figure out how it was possible, either.

Deciding it was a mystery she could always worry about in the morning, Cassandra carefully eased herself out from under the bed. It was a tight fit. Glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand, she startled to see that it was already 3 a.m. It had only been half-past six when she'd shut her eyes. How could that much time have passed without her realizing? It certainly hadn't felt like that much time had passed.

But then again, she supposed time had a nasty habit of speeding up whenever you were doing something you liked.

The rest of the night progressed just as swiftly, thanks in large to a pleasant dream of baby tortoises. Before she knew it, her mother was shaking her awake.

"Wake up," she barked, and the moment Cassandra's eyes opened an empty duffel bag was dropped onto her chest. "Take that and pack."

"What for?" she asked, though she already suspected the answer.

"You're going to your dad's. Now hurry up. The bus leaves in an hour."

Forty-five minutes later, Cassandra boarded a bus with her half-filled duffle bag. In the end she'd only had about ten minutes to dress and get packed, as the bus station was more than thirty minutes from their house (even with her mother's driving), but she really wasn't sorry to leave so much behind. Everything she was really attached to was safely stored away on the island, which she could always retrieve later on via her tunnels. Once she got to her dad's place, the St. Lawrence would be much too far away for her to possibly risk flying there, but sometime when he was out on a date or something she could run the tunnels without him ever knowing she was gone. Then she could hide the memory box amongst her things until she found another safe place to put it, one that wasn't a long, long jog from her new home.

Cassandra wasted the day drowsing, listening to her iPod, and staring out the window. When she finally arrived in Burgess, it was late in the evening. She'd figured nobody would be there to pick her up, and they weren't, so she wound up walking the four blocks to her dad's house. As she walked, she thought about how glad was she wasn't bothered by snow or ice. Burgess was covered in an even thicker layer of white than her mother's house had been, and the wind here had an extra sharp bite to it. Had she not been immune, she imagined the trip would've been unbearable.

Climbing the three cement steps that led to her dad's half of the blue-sided duplex, she rang the doorbell. A very ugly brunette answered. Cassandra scowled at her. Her dad had only been dating this broad for a few seconds and already she was hugely pregnant, her swollen belly jutting out right into her face. She actually had to take half a step back to avoid getting poked in the eye by the woman's hideously protruding belly button.

"You're Cassy?" the woman asked with a sneer.

"Disappointed?" Cassandra replied icily, but the woman didn't even seem to hear her as she was already yelling into the house.

"Randy! Randy your daughter's here!"

Her dad shouted something unintelligible from inside the house, and Carol turned back to Cassandra with a false smile plastered onto her mouth.

"We don't have a room for you 'cause of the nursery, so you're gonna take the couch."

"Fine."

The corner of Carol's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, as if she'd been waiting for (and, in fact, had been _hoping_ for) some sort of complaint or argument. Cassandra was excellent at reading people, and knew the woman was disappointed her first attempt to bait her boyfriend's daughter had failed.

Thankfully she was spared any more catty remarks due to the sudden appearance of her dad. He looked just as unshaven and disheveled as the last time she'd seen him, which had been almost ten years ago. His tattered jeans were too big in the waist, so they sagged around his ass, and his hoodie was stained with grease and oil. She took the latter as a sign that, if nothing else, her dad was still employed at the auto maintenance place across town.

"Hey, kid," he said to her. "Come on in."

His tone wasn't overly friendly, but wasn't entirely dismissive, either. It almost sounded to Cassandra like he was talking to an acquaintance rather than his own child. Such was confirmed to her when he stepped back to hold the door open but made no move to take her bag. Catching the hint of a smirk toying with the corners of Carol's mouth, Cassandra realized the only thing the move had accomplished was exchange one private hell for a different one.

 _This is gonna suck._

* * *

After a hot shower and a somewhat-decent meal of leftover goulash, Cassandra settled herself down on the living room sofa for the night. It stank of sweat and was covered in brown dog hair, though she had yet to see a dog anywhere. Carefully arranging a sheet over the cushions, she lay down and pulled the dark blue throw over herself. It was extremely uncomfortable, and she shuddered to think what sort of unspeakable things had happened right where her face was located.

Pulling a face, Cassandra rolled over, trying hard to ignore the murmur of her dad's and Carol's voices from back in the kitchen. For nearly an hour, she tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable and straining to hear if any of the muted conversation was about her. She wasn't altogether sure if she was happy or disappointed when none of it was.

Rolling over once more, she happened to glance out the window and sat bolt upright. She stared for a moment, hardly able to believe it. Then she leapt to her feet and darted across the room to press her face right up against the cold glass.

Her eyes weren't deceiving her. Streams of golden sand were gliding through the sky, meandering between houses and seeping through windows.

 _How? How is that possible?!_

Completely disregarding every self-imposed safety precaution in the wake of this incredible development, Cassandra eagerly pushed open the window and flew up to the roof. She walked right to the edge, staring wide-eyed at the dozens upon dozens of yellow tendrils snaking their way through town. As one happened to wind its way past her, she reached out to touch it, gathering some of the sand into her palm. Then she used her left hand to create some of her own, and compared the two piles.

To her shock, they looked exactly the same.

Casting aside her own sand with a careless flick of the wrist, Cassandra Fisher tried her hand at shaping an image utilizing this new material. Her eyes widened further still when an eagle effortlessly appeared and flew away into the darkness.

It didn't just look like the same sand…it _was_ the same sand!

 _Who on earth is doing this?_

She had to know.

Aided by the wind, Cassandra skipped lightly from rooftop to rooftop, tracking one of the sand streams back towards the source. Further and further she went, and as the buildings below her feet became fewer and further between, it dawned on her that the one responsible for this impressive feat may very well be located beyond the boundaries of Burgess.

Sure enough, she slid to a stop on the very last snow-covered roof, panting lightly and grimacing in defeat. The streams of sand were all converging on some place far, far out in the distance, and with no indication as to where precisely this magical person was located, she knew she couldn't risk going any further tonight. There was no telling if or when her dad or Carol might notice she was gone, and getting caught sneaking out of the house on the very first night would most assuredly get her thrown into foster care.

Best not push it.

Deeply disappointed, Cassandra returned home. She crawled through the window and was just sitting down on the couch again when Carol walked in. The woman's eyes narrowed as Cassandra feigned getting up instead of lying down.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

"Bathroom."

"Uh huh."

She obviously didn't believe it, but Cassandra really didn't care. She brushed past the huge woman and went straight for the bathroom, locking herself inside. She didn't really have to go, but knew her dad's girlfriend was sick enough in the head to probably stand outside the door and listen. So she took care of business, making far more racket than otherwise necessary just to make sure the insufferable woman knew she was on to her.

When she pulled the bathroom door open a few minutes later, there was Carol standing in the hallway, rubbing circles on her hideously swollen belly.

"What?" Cassandra asked stonily.

"Randy's right," Carol replied with a condescending smile. "You're really weird."

"Least I don't stand outside the bathroom listening to people."

The smirk collapsed into a scowl, but just as Carol opened her mouth to retort, her boyfriend arrived.

"Hey, ready for bed?" he asked, and Carol made a show of putting her arm around him and kissing his unshaven cheek.

"Of course love," she cooed. Cassandra felt sick watching it.

"Night Cassy," her dad called as he retreated to the master bedroom with his simpering girlfriend still hanging all over him.

"Night," Cassandra muttered.

Figures. Her dad called her Cassy and her mom called her Sandra, even though she hated both nicknames.

Back in the living room, Cassandra threw herself onto the couch and yanked the blanket up over her head. Sullen thoughts paraded through her mind, though they did nothing to dampen her curiosity over the unexpected appearance of the golden sand streams. Drawing back the blanket just a bit, she stared out the window at the lazy yellow ribbons. It sucked she couldn't solve the mystery tonight. Whoever it was out there controlling that sand, they may very well be able to answer her countless questions. Why did she have magic? Why were her powers all so different? How come she hadn't met anyone else with magic until tonight? (Well…she hadn't actually met anyone yet, but at least now she knew there _were_ others out there with similar powers...)

Heaving a sigh, Cassandra pulled the throw blanket up again and shut her eyes. As busy as her mind was with thoughts about magic, the mysterious person controlling the sand, moving homes and schools, and Carol's attitude, she wondered for a bit if she was ever going to get to sleep. However, she was exhausted from the long bus ride and subsequent race across rooftops. So even without the assistance of her own yellow dream sand, she eventually succeeded in drifting off.

* * *

It felt like she was dreaming, yet it couldn't be a dream. It was so just so…different from every dream she'd ever experienced. Dreams were normally bright and cheery, filled with wistful, innocent characters or peaceful scenery.

This was the complete opposite of that.

Standing in that vast blackened space, Cassandra was very aware of just how thick and smothering the atmosphere was. Normally darkness was comforting to her, warm and gentle and welcoming, but the darkness surrounding her now was eerie and threatening. Not only was it betraying her by concealing the chattering, clattering, hissing and whickering creatures that stalked just out of sight, but it bore a weight wholly unfamiliar to her, as if she would be crushed into pulp and devoured by it if she happened to let her guard down.

A nightmare. She was certain of it. Weird, how she would experience her very first one on the same night she discovered that somebody else out there possessed similar magical powers.

 _Coincidence? I think not._

Cassandra wasn't afraid (she knew nothing could hurt her in a nightmare), but her strong inborn sense of caution prompted her to remain rod-straight and unblinking. Blank-faced, she studied the darkness for glimpses of the mysterious creatures. She saw a few legs, and what she was fairly certain was a tail, before eyes—golden, narrowed, gleaming eyes—started to open all around her. A low, rumbling growl resounded in her sensitive ears, growing louder and louder with each passing moment, but even then Cassandra stubbornly refused to flinch. A few seconds later, a massive black monster shot out of the dark, frothing jaws opened wide to snatch and shred with jagged teeth.

Yet even that hideous beast couldn't budge eleven-year-old Cassandra Fisher. Rather than run screaming, or cowering in terror, the stone-faced girl slashed the air with her hand and shouted in as commanding a voice as she could muster, "Enough!"

As if struck by a powerful blow, the beast split in two. It crumbled into black dust and subsequently swallowed up by the very darkness that had borne it.

Almost immediately afterwards the chuckling began.

"So you can control nightmares too. How intriguing."

A figure emerged from the darkness. It looked like a man, but there was no way he could be human. Tall and thin, with gray skin and golden eyes that gleamed bright in the darkness, he wore long black robes that matched the color of his slicked-back hair. As he began to slowly pace circles around Cassandra, an arrogant smirk played across his face, revealing sharp teeth.

"I must say, I find this so incredibly exciting." His voice was smooth and confident, incredibly charismatic, and bore the faintest echoes of an accent. Studying him, however, revealed nothing to Cassandra as to where he may have come from. "A human with magic is strange enough on its own, but…you don't have just any sort of magic, do you?"

He moved closer, each movement so incredibly smooth he almost seemed to glide towards her. Cassandra stood firm, and within moments the strange man-creature was looming over her.

"Hmm," he mused, eyeing her up and down. "You don't believe in the Guardians, I see. That's always a plus." Then a slight frown drew his brows together as he continued, "You are not afraid, either. How is it that you can see me if you do not fear or believe?"

"You're standing right there," Cassandra replied evenly. "How can I not see you?"

For a heartbeat of time, he stared at her. A flicker of some indiscernible emotion flashed across his face before the smirk returned, accompanied this time by the deep, throaty echoes of an amused chuckle. "Indeed. How can you not." He straightened to his full height. "Tell me your name, child."

"Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself first?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, she worried she'd unintentionally aggravated or insulted him, but instead the strange gray man chuckled again.

"Why yes. Yes it is. It has been so long since my last genteel conversation, I admit that I completely forgot." He inclined his head towards her, though his penetrating stare never left her face. "I am Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, though many refer to me simply as the Boogeyman."

"Boogeyman?"

"You have not heard of me?"

"Of course I have. I was two once."

He scowled at her. "You have a sharp tongue." Then he grinned. "I like that. As much as I enjoy fear, cowardice does grow tedious after a time. It's so very hard to hold a conversation with someone who's whimpering and cowering and begging for mercy."

Cassandra said nothing. She still wasn't sure what to make of this strange man, this "Pitch Black", quite yet.

"So what is your name, bold one?"

"Cassandra Fisher."

"Cassandra. 'To excel and to shine'. How oddly fitting."

Feeling insulted, Cassandra scowled. It was the first real emotion she'd displayed since getting sucked into this nightmare, but she really didn't like people making fun of her name. "Says the one named 'Pitch Black.'"

Something very cold, like an icy finger, traced down the length of her spine. She didn't shiver (she didn't dare), as the Boogeyman's eyes narrowed. "I have been known by many names over the ages, girl," he said in a voice that was deadly soft. "Don't mistake my interest for geniality. Even with your magic I could crush you like a fallen leaf."

"I'm sure you can." She wasn't being sarcastic, she truly meant it. She could _feel_ the danger, the power, radiating off of him as humanoid shadows loomed high around them. "I just don't like people making fun of my name. It's bad enough my parents call me crap like 'Cassy' or 'Sandra' even though I hate it."

As fast as Pitch Black's anger had appeared, it melted away again, and just like that the haughty smile was back.

"In that case, I shall call you Cassandra. In exchange you will answer my questions. Deal?"

She thought it over for a moment. "Nothing personal?"

"Oh, no," he assured her in a silky voice. "I merely wish to indulge my curiosity over your rather…unique abilities. My intentions are far from sinister, I assure you."

Cassandra didn't believe it, not even for a moment. She couldn't explain why (perhaps it was the oily aura he exuded, like a crooked car salesman), but she had the feeling this Pitch Black was an accomplished liar. He was trying to manipulate her, and making no effort whatsoever to hide the fact, which indicated plainly just how little he thought of her intelligence.

 _Better put a stop to that._

She countered his offer. "How about you call me Cassandra out of respect, because I asked you to, and then we answer each other's questions."

One dark eyebrow lifted. "Respect? I am a spirit and a king. What are you?" He scoffed. "A human and a child."

"We may be different," she admitted, "but we are mutual in our curiosity. I will show you respect if you show it to me in return, that way we can both get what we want."

He threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed until Cassandra was sure he'd burst a lung.

"Oh, you _are_ bold, young one," he chortled. "Bold and intelligent. I rather like that."

He waved his hands through the air in a casual gesture. She couldn't help but notice just how very long his fingers were, and with sudden clarity, she realized that he must've been the one who'd grabbed her in the dark last night. "Very well," he decided. "I accept your terms."

Before he could ask the first question, though, he looked around sharply. "Another night, perhaps," he told her tersely, looking exceptionally aggravated. "It seems we are being rudely interrupted."

Cassandra opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but instead her eyes shot open as her physical body was forcibly shaken.

"Well, thank God," Carol huffed. "I was starting to think you were dead."

"Come on," Randy's voice called from the kitchen. "Hurry up, Cassy. You're gonna be late for school!"

Shaking her head to clear the lingering haze, Cassandra jumped up from the couch to take a shower. As she quickly scrubbed stink and dog hair from her body, she wondered about the dream she'd had.

Pitch Black was a very odd character indeed, treading the finest of lines between fascinating and creepy. She didn't trust him more than she could throw him, but he was the first person (or rather, _spirit_ , if she was to believe what he'd said) that she'd met who possessed powers similar to her own. She was desperate for answers, and until she tracked down the one responsible for creating those yellow sand streams, he was the only available source. It would be stupid to waste such an opportunity, even if she couldn't trust the half of what he said.

Besides, she reasoned as she toweled herself dry, he'd given his word to answer her questions if she answered his, and she couldn't think of any reason why he'd break that promise. He was clearly as interested in her existence as she was in his, so reneging on their agreement would only serve to his own detriment. He may be a liar, but he didn't appear to be a wholly unreasonable sort.

At least he'd agreed to call her Cassandra.

* * *

Sitting on his dark throne, Pitch Black opened his eyes. A triumphant grin spread wide across his face as he absently stroked Onyx's mane with one hand.

"How interesting," he purred. "How very, _very_ interesting."


	2. First Day, Second Night

Author's note:

Thanks for the favorites, follows and views! It's always nerve-wracking starting a new fic (or, hell, even posting a new chapter) because I take my writing very seriously and I'm always paranoid nobody will like it. But I'm glad to see it hasn't been _completely_ ignored. ;)

Quick side note, for those of you who read my _Starfire_ fic, the first one-shot is up. (Yay!)

 **Momochan77:** I'm glad you're back, and happy to hear that you like it. The first few chapters are a bit slow, as they're meant to set the stage for the rest of the fic, but I have quite a lot planned for this one so hopefully you stick around for the ride. :D

Please enjoy, and review if you can, they give me energy and inspiration.

* * *

Cassandra's new school wasn't much bigger than her old one, which was always a plus. She had no idea who her teacher was, or where the office was, or if it was even possible for her to attend school so early after arriving. (Wasn't there a transfer period or something?) But her dad had told her to go, so she got ready and went, even though her backpack was conspicuously empty and she probably would've never figured out where to go had it not been for the massive throngs of kids heading in approximately the same direction. When she got there, she allowed the general flow of the crowd to pull her into the building until she spotted a paper sign on the wall pointing towards the main office. She pushed her way to the double doors, heaved them open, and approached the secretary's desk.

"Can I help you honey?" the woman sitting there asked kindly.

"I'm Cassandra Fisher. I'm supposed to start school today."

"You are?" Perfectly sculpted brows pinched together as the woman—who, according to the name plaque on her desk, was named Ms. Price—tapped away at her computer keyboard. After a few moments she shook her head. "No…no, I don't see any Cassandra Fisher in the system."

A deep, masculine voice resounded out of a nearby doorway. "Did you say Fisher?" A middle-aged man in a pristine suit and tie appeared from that room and strode purposefully towards them. He stopped by the secretary's desk and looked down at Cassandra. "Are you Randy's kid?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, that's right!" Ms. Price exclaimed. She pressed a hand to her heart, though Cassandra didn't have a clue why. "My dear, I am so sorry, I completely forgot!"

"Your dad came in last night to speak to us," the man explained. "Normally we don't let kids into school right away, especially without transfer records, but he explained the situation to us and we made an exception. You're good to go." Then he had a sudden thought. "I actually have the class assignment list on my desk. Let me go get it."

He retreated back to his office.

"I really am sorry about that, honey," Ms. Price said. She still looked strangely distressed, even though Cassandra herself wasn't all that bothered by what had happened. "I completely forgot your dad came in. And dear, if there's anything you need, anything at all, please feel free to stop by. Or you can go down the hall to Guidance. We're always available, even if you just need to talk to someone."

"'Kay," Cassandra replied noncommittally, though she couldn't help but wonder what sort of horror stories her dad had been telling for the secretary to openly recommend counseling on the very first day.

At that moment, a male teacher came into the office carrying a stack of papers. He wore black dress pants, a blue button-down shirt, and what was unmistakably a large reindeer pin on his lapel. He greeted the secretary cheerfully.

"Morning, Janet!"

"Oh, thank you," Ms. Price replied just as jovially as she took the papers from him. She meant to say more, but the rest of her response was cut short by the return of the suit-and-tie man, whom Cassandra was starting to suspect was the principal.

"Here you go," he said, handing the paper to Cassandra. "Your teacher's name is Mrs. Kimble."

"Hey you're right next door to me," the reindeer pin teacher said with a broad smile. _Why is he so happy this early in the morning?_ "I can take you if you want."

"Sure."

As the principal returned to his office without further ado, a woman poked her head through the double doors and called, "Jamie."

The teacher looked around.

"Are you covering the math lesson for a second day, or did your kids all get it?"

"I've got a couple who are a little behind, so I'm going to review for the first half of class."

"Okay, that's fine. Just don't get too far ahead or Marshall will yell at me."

"I heard that," the principal's voice called. Both teachers grinned.

"Don't worry, I've got you covered," the male teacher assured his colleague.

"Great, thanks," she replied, and disappeared.

"Come on, I'll take you," the male teacher said to Cassandra. "I'm Mr. Bennett, by the way." He continued to gab as he led the way out of the office. "I teach fourth grade, so you don't get to be in my class, darn it. But like I said, I'm right next door so feel free to stop by any time."

As they moved through the gradually emptying hallways, quite a few students greeted Mr. Bennett over the din. Apparently he was rather popular. He responded in kind with massive smiles and genuinely cheerful waves.

"Ready for Christmas?" he called, and a whole crowd of students (mostly younger kids) cheered. "So am I!"

The man was insufferably good-natured. Cassandra wondered if he ever stopped smiling.

"You ready for Christmas too?" Mr. Bennett asked Cassandra. "What did you ask Santa for this year?"

"Santa isn't real," she informed him. To her surprise, the man looked startled by her conviction.

"Really? You mean you don't believe?" She didn't respond. He rubbed his chin ruefully. "Huh. They get younger and younger these days, don't they?"

Cassandra thought eleven was more than old enough to understand that ridiculous things like Santa didn't exist, but didn't bother pointing that out to Mr. Bennett. Somehow she knew she'd be wasting her breath.

"Well, here we are," Mr. Bennett reported merrily. "We have lunch together, these four rooms," he gestured to indicate his room, Cassandra's class, and the two flanking them, "so we'll see each other later!"

"Great," Cassandra mumbled, but he missed her obvious lack of enthusiasm.

"See you then!"

As a whole, the morning passed rather uneventfully. Apart from the occasional overly-zealous teacher, school in Burgess wasn't nearly as bad as it had been back at her mom's. For one thing, Mrs. Kimble seemed to be a lot nicer than that snarky old man she used to have for a teacher. For another, her classmates left her alone except to say hi and briefly introduce themselves. Cassandra liked that. She wasn't looking to make friends, and certainly wasn't about to get her hopes up no matter how well things were starting out. It had taken a couple of years for the harassment at her old school to really kick off, so she knew it was only a matter of time before things here started to fall apart. Maintaining amicable distance was by far the safest and easiest option for all involved.

Lunchtime, unfortunately, was a whole different story. As promised, Mr. Bennett's class was there, and boy did that man like to hear himself talk. Cassandra kept her head down and tried really, really hard to ignore his banter about Santa Clause and Jack Frost and Tooth Fairy, but it was next to impossible thanks to her sensitive ears. He moved from table to table, engaging every student he passed, and it became increasingly clear to her that the overgrown child actually _believed_ all the nonsense he was spouting. Silently spooning mashed potatoes into her mouth, she found herself wondering just how in the hell a person like Mr. Jamie Bennett could be so well-liked when someone like her, who actually _tried_ to be normal, was treated like a diseased weirdo.

 _I mean,_ listen _to him,_ she thought as the man started prattling on about how Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny always argued over which holiday was best, which inevitably started a debate amongst the students. How could anyone believe crap like that? And some of those kids were in Cassandra's class; weren't they a bit old to be talking about Easter Bunnies?

Well, if nothing else, she took the overall atmosphere of childish stupidity as a sign that maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to get through the rest of the year without too many problems. If fifth and sixth graders could openly discuss Easter Bunny and Santa Clause without being mocked or ridiculed, then maybe she could coast through as the designated "class mouse" without anyone being any the wiser.

After school, Cassandra returned home to find her dad was at work. Carol was there, though, sitting on the couch next to some blonde broad who had a Chihuahua cradled in her lap. The dog started yapping the second she walked in, and both women turned their heads to look at her.

"Hey, Cassy, this is Barb, she lives next door. Barb, this is Randy's kid."

"Nice to meet you," the blonde said politely, though she made no effort to get up. She was too busy trying to pin the hysterical Chihuahua, who looked ready to tear into Cassandra's ankles. "Barney! Shh!"

The dog just barked louder. _At least now I know where all the dog hair's coming from,_ Cassandra thought, wholly unimpressed by both the animal and its owner.

"How was school?" Carol asked, then in the exact same breath told Barb, "You know, that reminds me. How did things go with that Richard fellow?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, you know how it always goes. One date and they've already lost interest."

"Just looking for a quick lay," Carol said with a knowing nod of the head. "That's why I'm so glad I found Randy. He's so dedicated to family."

Cassandra snorted. How could the woman say such a ridiculous thing when the daughter her precious "family-man" Randy hadn't seen in ten years was standing right there?

Annoyed, Carol turned in her seat to scowl at her. "Why don't you go outside for a bit, Cassy," she suggested in a tone that was as tense as it was falsely-sweet. Clearly she was only holding her temper for sake of appearances in front of Barb. "Go meet some kids, make some friends."

Rolling her eyes, Cassandra dropped her backpack beside the couch and left, zipping up her coat as she went. Just as she reached the front door, her sharp hearing picked up Carol's parting shot.

"You know, I really can't stand that girl. She thinks she knows everything!"

Cassandra let the door slam shut, just so the woman knew precisely what she thought about that. Hands stuffed into her coat pockets, she wandered aimlessly through the streets of Burgess, kicking moodily at clumps of ice and snow lying on the half-shoveled sidewalks. Veering suddenly to the right, she cut through knee-deep snow banks as she headed off towards the woods. She wanted to be alone right now, and getting lost in those dark trees seemed to be a surefire way to guarantee that.

Unfortunately, she'd barely passed through the first line of naked trees when she heard noise. Cresting a hill, she stopped short, scowling down at the scene below her.

Lying on the outskirts of Burgess was a frozen pond, and all around it were screaming, laughing kids pelting each other with snowballs. Then a deeper laugh resounded, and Cassandra quickly spotted Mr. Bennett, who was struggling to hold his own against a whole group. A rail-thin teenager in a dark blue hoodie (who, for some inexplicable reason, had dyed his hair white and was holding a big stick) leapt about amongst the little kids, whooping and laughing as he helped them pelt the teacher with frozen projectiles.

"Come on, Jack, you're supposed to be on my team!" Mr. Bennett laughed as he tried to duck a snowball. It caught him in the shoulder instead, showering cold snow all over his face and down his neck.

As he shook out his coat, he spotted Cassandra standing isolated on the hilltop. He waved enthusiastically. "Hey, Cassandra Fisher! Come play with us!"

Stiff and wary, she called back, "I think I'll pass."

The words had barely left her mouth when a snowball hit her hard in the face. Tiny twinkling flakes hovered before her eyes, but she waved them off, exasperated and more than a little aggravated.

"I said I'll pass!" she repeated, yelling louder this time to make sure they all heard. Then she turned on her heel and marched back the way she'd come, grumbling over how much effort it took to be alone in this town.

* * *

"Huh," Jamie uttered as he watched the new student march away.

"Why didn't it work, Jack?" Troy Bellings asked.

"Don't know," the frost spirit replied. He looked incredibly confused. "It's never failed before." Then a wide grin spread across his face, optimism banishing his earlier puzzlement. "I'll just try again!"

He lifted his staff to set off after Cassandra Fisher and catch her with another fun-filled snowball, but Jamie caught his sleeve.

"Best leave it for now, Jack," he advised. "She's new here, and has an awful lot on her plate. She'll come around in time."

"Doubt it," Troy's older brother, Trevor, muttered as Jack lowered his staff. "My sister says she's real gloomy."

"Well, Trevor, she just moved here. It can't be easy leaving home right before Christmas, can it?" Jamie said wisely.

The third-grader nodded in grave understanding.

"Maybe Santa can give her an extra nice present to make her feel better," little Meghan, a first grader, suggested kindly.

"Yeah, North's good at that sort of thing," Jack agreed. His grin widened, revealing every one of his sparkling white teeth. "I'll be sure to ask him!"

"I don't know, Jack," Jamie said softly. "She doesn't believe."

An audible gasp swept through the children.

"She _doesn't_?!" Troy gasped.

"Why not?" Meghan asked. She sounded (and looked) close to tears. Jack took her hand to console her.

"Some kids don't, Meghan," Jamie explained gently. "They forget as they grow older."

"And some don't," Jack added, eyeing the man with a pointed smile.

Jamie shrugged. "I guess you could say I just never grew up."

* * *

Unable to find a more suitable place to be alone, Cassandra hid in a snow-covered tube at the school playground until it started growing dark. Figuring it was close to dinnertime, she returned to the duplex to find Barb had finally gone home, taking that yapping mongrel with her. Carol was in the kitchen, pan-frying steak. Cassandra couldn't help but notice there were only two pieces.

"Dad working late?" she asked, shrugging off her coat.

"What?" The woman looked at her, confused for a moment. Then she smirked as she understood. "No, I just wasn't sure what you liked, so I figured you could manage for yourself."

Rather than engage in what was clearly another attempt to get under her skin, Cassandra replied simply, "Oh." She went to the fridge, pulled it open, and studied the sparse contents with a critical eye before selecting a half-used jar of strawberry jam. A peanut butter sandwich would get her out of the kitchen and away from Carol in a hurry.

As she left the room munching on her sandwich, she nearly walked into her dad.

"Woah, there." He eyed the food in her hand. "You're not having steak?"

"She said she wasn't that hungry," Carol piped in sweetly, effectively destroying any comment or argument Cassandra could've possibly come up with.

"Oh. Well, try not to snack so much tomorrow, 'kay?"

"Sure."

He brushed past her and entered the kitchen. Rolling her eyes, Cassandra retreated to the living room. Throwing herself down onto the couch, she polished off her sandwich and wondered just how long Carol was going to keep on being petty before the woman gave up.

' _Til I go to college or dad ditches her, probably._

Heaving a sigh, she brushed dog hair off her pants and went to grab her backpack, where it was still lying on the living room floor. She had math and history to do, so she might just as well get it done now while she had a few minutes to herself.

Once they were through with their steak dinner, her dad and Carol invaded the living room to watch T.V. Cassandra lingered just long enough to complete the final two math problems, then promptly left, retreating outdoors before she was forced to witness one more second of them cuddling and pawing all over each other. She left so quickly, in fact, she forgot to take her coat, but made no move to turn around and retrieve it once she remembered. The cold had never bothered her, and as dark and still as Burgess was right now the chances of her running into anybody were slim to none. As long as she was careful she'd be all right.

Wandering the lamp-lighted streets, flashes of yellow soon drew her attention. Cassandra craned her neck to stare up at the sky, watching the lazy sand ribbons with real interest. She frowned as it dawned on her that the sand was trailing into people's homes, and paused on the sidewalk when one wispy tendril disappeared into a nearby one-story.

What was going on?

In spite of the obvious danger, curiosity got the better of her, and Cassandra slinked forward on silent feet. Lightening her body as if she were about to fly, she left no trail of footprints in the snow, and by employing her extensive knowledge of darkness and shadows she remained well hidden despite being in plain view from the rest of the street. Peering through the frosty glass, brown eyes widened as they watched the golden sand touch the heads of not one, but two small children. Images of dancing ballerinas immediately appeared over the head of one, while singing alligators soon took shape over the other.

Dreams? The creator of this sand was shaping dreams for others?

Once, when Cassandra was very young and just coming into her magic, she'd tried to shape a dream for someone else to enjoy. She'd been desperate to know everything she possibly could about her powers, yet had only grown more confused when she discovered that the dreams she could shape so easily for herself crumbled into useless yellow grains whenever they were shared. This unknown dream-waver must be powerful indeed if he (or she) could create dreams for other people to experience.

 _And for so many_ …

Stepping back from the window, Cassandra studied the countless sand trails lighting up the night sky. It was a stunning feat to perform every single night, that was for sure, and she was more convinced than ever that she just _had_ to meet the one responsible.

But not tonight. Tonight she had a meeting with Pitch Black.

Heaving a sigh, Cassandra returned to the sidewalk, allowed her body to regain its usual weight, and began the long trudge home.

"Where have you been?" her dad barked the second she stepped in through the door. "Barb said she saw you leave, and with no coat on, too!"

Cassandra glanced at the stovetop clock. She'd hardly been gone half an hour. Were these people paranoid or just incessantly nosy? Why did they suddenly care about what she did or where she went?

"You're lucky you didn't catch your death," her dad went on in the same harsh tone. "I was just about to come looking for you! What were you thinking?! Were you trying to get me charged with neglect?!"

Ah. There it was. Her dad's anger wasn't over the fact that she'd left the house; it was because he was afraid the neighbors would call the cops on him.

 _Figures._

"You go to bed this instant!" her dad barked, thrusting a grease-stained finger in the general direction of the living room. "I don't want you leaving the house after dark again! Do you understand me?!"

With a silent nod, Cassandra left the kitchen. On the way she passed by Carol, who smirked openly at her. _Bitch._ She took a hot shower, brushed her teeth, and lay on the stinky, dog hair covered sofa.

 _I really hate this place._

She must've been tired, because within seconds of closing her eyes she was back in that dark place facing the so-called Boogeyman.

"Good evening," he greeted, his oily voice making the words sound very much like a mockery.

"How do you get in my head like this?"

"Ah-ah," he chided with a condescending waggle of one long gray finger. "Remember, questions go both ways now. If I answer yours, then you must answer mine. And don't you dare lie to me."

The last part was clearly a threat, one that he made no effort whatsoever to conceal. Cassandra didn't waste time thinking about what would happen to her if she lied, because she'd never planned on lying in the first place. Only idiots tried to pass off a lie on someone who was an accomplished liar themselves, for they could smell bullshit a hundred miles coming.

She may only be eleven, but she certainly wasn't an idiot.

"Of course not," she replied honestly.

"Excellent. Now, to answer your first question, I merely brushed your head with nightmare sand. That allows me to enter your mind while you sleep."

"Is nightmare sand similar to dream sand?"

"No, no, my dear. My question first." He smirked at her scowl, pleased that she was annoyed and thoroughly enjoying the sense of superiority he gained from thwarting her. "So tell me, when did you start developing your magic?"

"I don't know. I've had it as long as I can remember."

"Then tell me which power you developed first."

"I just answered a question, so now it's your turn to answer one."

"But that wasn't a question," he informed her smugly. "It was a request."

Now it was Cassandra's turn to smirk. "Well, I deny your request. Try again after you've answered my question."

Golden eyes narrowed, but instead of growing angry with her for outmaneuvering him, his mouth curled into a dark smile. Clearly Pitch Black liked playing word tricks and mind games with people, and was pleased to have finally found someone who could match his mettle.

"I like you," he said on a purr. "You're fun."

She rolled her eyes. "So is your nightmare sand similar to dream sand?"

"Actually it is corrupted dream sand. I just touch it and…" His voice trailed off as he twirled one long finger lazily through the air. As he did so, a wisp of black sand appeared, spiraling for a moment before breaking apart and collapsing into the dark around his feet.

 _So instead of making dreams with it, he makes nightmares,_ she deduced. _So is he, like, the opposite of the one who shapes dreams for the kids? Are they a sort of yin and yang that balance and play off of one another?_

The thought made her pause.

 _Then…what does that make me, who can do both?_

"So which power did you develop first?"

Jerked out of her thoughts, Cassandra pondered Pitch's question for a moment, searching back through her memories to try and recall.

"I wouldn't really say it was a power," she said quietly, "but I've always had these weird…urges to hoard things. Mostly teeth."

One dark brow lifted. "Teeth?"

"Yeah." Of course he thought it was strange. Even _she_ knew it was strange. "I know it's gross, but it just…I don't know. It feels like I'm keeping the memories safe I guess."

"Memories, eh? Hmmm…." He thrummed his long fingers together as he considered that. There was an odd look on his face that she just couldn't place, like he was confused and amused and darkly delighted all at once.

"So do you give nightmares to everyone?"

Her question pulled him from his train of thought. "What? Oh, no, not everyone. Children mostly, and even then only on occasion thanks to those stupid Guardians."

"Who?"

He evaded the question by asking one of his own. "Which power came next?"

"The dream sand. I've been able to create it for a long time, but it took me a while to figure out how it actually worked. Before that it would just fly everywhere and make a mess. So who are the Guardians?"

"Oh, nobody you need concern yourself with. You're human, after all."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Doesn't it?" he asked, the picture of innocence.

She crossed her arms. "Answer my question, Pitch."

"Are you ordering me?" There was a smile on his face, but the lilt to his voice was sinister.

"I'm requesting that you answer my question properly."

"And if I refuse your request?"

"Then I think I'm done playing Twenty-Questions with you."

Even if he didn't get the reference, he grasped her meaning perfectly. A tense silence hung in the air as gleaming golden eyes bored into composed brown ones, human and spirit each demanding that the other give in. Shadows grew and flickered around them, betraying the true depth of the supposed Nightmare King's anger.

Then, all of a sudden, he chuckled.

"Too bad you're not a spirit," he said with quiet amusement. "We could have become close, you and I. We're very much alike."

Suppressing a shudder, Cassandra sincerely hoped he meant that in a purely platonic way, like friends or something, and not…well, anything else.

"Answer my question," she insisted. "Who are the Guardians?"

"They're spirits like me," he explained in a lazy drawl. "But they're no fun. They go around telling other spirits what they can and cannot do, and punish those who dare disobey."

So Pitch wasn't the only spirit that existed; and from the sound of it, there were actually quite a few out there in the world. Cassandra didn't know if she was more shocked or excited by the revelation.

"What about the rest of your powers?"

A far more generalized question, one that required a more detailed answer to satisfy. It was both a time-saving move on Pitch's part and a cunning bid to gather more information in one turn, and Cassandra decided then that her first assumption about him was right. Not only was he an accomplished liar, he was well-practiced in the art of manipulation. She was going to have to keep her wits about her if she had any hope of keeping up with him.

"My shadow powers came next," she told him. "Then my flight and snow, and finally my ability to create tunnels. My hearing and sense of smell came along with that last one."

"Just like a rabbit," he chuckled to himself.

"I suppose you could say that," she agreed, wondering why it seemed like he was having a private joke at her expense.

"That's all?" he inquired after a moment, and she allowed him that second question because she knew it was just his way of confirming that she hadn't withheld anything from him.

"That's it. That's all my magic."

"Interesting," he murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Seems fat man's excluded."

She asked "Who?" before she could stop herself, and was instantly overcome with aggravation. With the way time passed so differently here, who knew how much longer she'd have before Carol or her dad woke her up for school? It was stupid of her to waste a turn like that.

He waved his hand dismissively through the air. "A fat spirit, one who's very full of himself, I might add. I was simply comparing your gifts to ones that other spirits possess, and noted that you failed to develop one similar to his."

It was a reasonable enough explanation, and yet Cassandra could tell that he was dancing around the question, leaving out vital bits of information that he obviously wasn't prepared to share with her. In any other situation she would've demanded he answer her properly, but something about what he'd said—or, rather, what he _hadn't_ said—gave her pause. Maybe it was something he couldn't tell her because she wasn't a spirit? Or maybe it was simply a matter of trust. That seemed plausible. After only two nights, who was she to demand full confidence, especially from someone whom she knew just as little about?

Perhaps in time, when he'd gained more confidence in her character, she could ask him again.

It was his turn to ask a question. "Which of your gifts is the most potent?"

"Well, that depends. It's always changing."

"Really?" he said with genuine interest.

"Do you know who creates the yellow dream sand that goes through Burgess?"

He scowled. "Yes." But the dark look disappeared just as fast as it appeared. "How has it changed?"

"When I was little, the urge to collect teeth and other memorabilia was strongest, but it's weakened quite a bit as I've grown older. I hardly feel it at all anymore. The dream magic has always stayed about the same, as has my skill at making tunnels, but the other two gifts have grown significantly stronger with time and practice."

"Shadows and frost."

It wasn't quite a question, but she confirmed it for him anyway, as she didn't see a reason not to. "Yes."

"Hmmm…"

"So who is it that controls the yellow sand?"

"Hm?" He looked up at her, confused for a moment as he hadn't really been listening. _(That's twice now. What on earth is he thinking about?)_ "Oh, him. That's one of the Guardians. He isn't very important."

"He's powerful enough to spread dreams all over town," she pointed out, which made him scowl. When he responded, his tone positively dripped with ridicule.

"Yes, yes, all over the world he spreads perfect golden fantasies for adoring little children."

All over the world?! Cassandra's sand couldn't even affect one person, but this still-unnamed Guardian could touch hundreds, possibly _thousands_ of children all at once?! It was absolutely astounding to her.

 _I_ have _to meet him!_

Such was the depth of Pitch Black's abhorrence for the dream-weaver, he didn't even noticed he'd let slip additional information. Cassandra had to smother a smug smile as she watched him silently fume over what she presumed were past grievances, for he was now doing precisely what she'd promised herself _not_ to do: allowing his emotions to affect his rational mind.

"Anyway," he sniffed at last. "Which of your gifts is strongest: shadows or frost?"

"Frost." Noting the disappointment (or was that disgust?) on his face, she added, "Not for a lack of trying. Shadow magic is really my favorite, but it's been hard for me to master. Until recently I couldn't even transport myself outside the house."

"And might I ask what it is about shadows and darkness that you enjoy so much?"

She deflected him. "My question first: Why are you so interested in me?"

"I've already told you. I'm indulging my curiosity."

"But why are you—?"

"Ah-ah, me first. Why do you enjoy the shadows so much?"

"Don't get me wrong, I love flying too. But shadows are…calming."

He raised a quizzical brow.

"Really," she insisted. "When I disappear into the darkness, I'm alone and secure, and everything's so quiet. I like that."

Pitch Black chuckled, but he didn't seem amused at all. If anything, he looked…gloomy. Golden eyes wandering off to stare at something unseen, he said quietly, "You don't know the half of what darkness is truly capable of."

Cassandra frowned. Why did he sound sad? What was there to be sad about? She opened her mouth to ask, but he cut her off.

"As for your question—you were going to ask why I'm so curious, right?—well, the answer to that is simple." He was looking at her again, and there wasn't a trace of that baffling sorrow left as the arrogant smirk was back. "You are a human. Humans don't have magic. That you exist at all is a mystery I would very much like to solve."

"I take it you don't have a whole lot to do with your time."

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. "You could say that," he told her before adding in a silky murmur, "for now."

She didn't like the sound of that. Pitch Black obviously had some sort of devious schemes in mind, and she didn't bother asking him about them because she already knew that she wanted absolutely no part of it.

"So how many spirits are there apart from you?" she inquired instead. She was infinitely curious about the spirit world, even if she was rather wary about certain black-robed members.

"Oh, hundreds and hundreds." He swept his hands through the air as if to encompass an entire group…or the whole world. "Powerful ones and pathetic ones, ones that can be seen and others that remain invisible, ones who matter and those who only think they do."

He trailed to a stop, grinning. "In other words, girl, far too many for you to possibly know in your lifetime."

All around them, the edges of the nightmare seem to flicker, like a computer monitor with a loose wire or an old television that was slightly out of tune. Pitch snarled, "Oh for darkness' sake! Those parents of yours are so insufferably aggravating!"

"Carol's not my mom," Cassandra said at once. The very thought of ever being related to her both sickened and angered her.

"Be that as it may, we'll have to reconsider these arrangements. I won't stand to continue conversing in this manner if I'm going to keep getting interrupted!"

"Well, what do you suggest we d—?"

"Wake up!"

Startled awake, Cassandra jerked away from the one so rudely shaking her, which turned out to be Barb.

"What?" she gasped. "What is it?"

"Your dad just took Carol to the hospital. She's having her baby."

Cassandra groaned. _That_ was what was so important? She'd have much preferred to stay asleep.

Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and Cassandra nearly choked at the sight of Pitch Black, the so-called Nightmare King, standing in the corner of the living room. Arms crossed, he glared daggers at Barb as the woman offered: "Why don't you come over to my place? I have a free room, so just grab some clothes for the morning and you can get ready for school there."

"All right."

Scrambling for her duffel bag, Cassandra watched the retreating woman carefully out of the corner of her eye. She half-expected a jump of surprise, a startled scream, or maybe an indignant "Who the hell are you?", but Barb had no reaction whatsoever to the glowering spirit. It was as if, to her, Pitch Black did not exist.

Noting the way the Boogeyman's narrowed eyes followed Barb's every move, something he'd said to Cassandra just a few minutes ago crept back into her mind. "'Some can be seen while others remain invisible.'" That was what he'd said. Did that mean Pitch Black was one of those invisible spirits? Was his curiosity not just directed at her magic, but also her ability to see him?

 _That's right,_ she realized as she trailed after Barb, casting a quick glance at the Nightmare King as she walked past him. _On the first night he wondered why I could see him, and I said something stupid about him being right there. Maybe…maybe it's odd for people to see him._

The thought made her a little sad. She knew she shouldn't feel sorry for the greasy, arrogant, manipulative spirit, but at the same time she couldn't help but wonder just how much of that persona had been shaped from years and years of walking around unseen. As much as Cassandra hated having others stare at her and tease her and get into her business, thanks to her neglectful mother she could very well imagine how painful it must be for others to be treated as if they didn't exist.

She wanted to ask him about it, but didn't think he'd take too well to that sort of conversation. Not only was it an extremely private matter, they'd only just met and she was just a kid (not to mention the fact that he was a spirit and a king, as he liked to throw into her very human face). Bringing it up would only make him mad.

Barb's half of the duplex was a mirror of her dad's half, yet it felt much larger somehow. Maybe it was because it was painted in brighter colors, like the daffodil-colored kitchen and the sky blue hallway, or maybe it was just because Carol wasn't there to annoy her. Barb's dog was there, though, that stupid little Chihuahua. Thankfully it was sound asleep, lying on its back in its tiny dog bed with all four feet stuck up in the air like some sort of comic display of animal stupidity.

"Here's the room," the blonde said, pushing open a doorway before leading her inside. "I know it'll only be a couple of days, just until Carol gets out of the hospital, but there's a dresser there if you wanna unpack your bag."

"Nah, I'm good," Cassandra said truthfully. It would be pointless of her to unpack when, as the woman had said, she'd only be there a couple of days. Still, she was rather touched by the offer. Even if Barb was just trying to be polite and formal because she had a guest in the house, in the past two minutes she'd been far more welcoming than Carol or even her dad had been.

"Bathroom's right out there," Barb continued, gesturing to the doorway across the hall. "Be careful with the hot water in the shower. It takes a while to get through the pipes, but once it does it can be a real bitch."

A crooked grin stretched one half of Cassandra's mouth. "Thanks, I'll remember that."

"If you need anything, just let me know. Oh, and keep your door closed, else Barney will waltz in here at five a.m. looking for something to eat."

"All right."

"Night Cassandra."

"Night," Cassandra replied, wondering why this woman, of all people, would call her by her full name when nobody else but Pitch Black ever had.

Once Barb was gone, she pushed the door closed as instructed. Fully intent on turning in for the night, and actually looking forward to sleeping in a real bed, Cassandra turned around only to find the Nightmare King standing there glaring daggers at her.

"Well that took long enough!"

"She was just being polite," she replied quietly. She didn't want Barb to overhear and think she was talking to herself. That was bound to ruin whatever good feelings the woman might have for her.

Pitch scoffed. "There's a distinct difference between polite and clingy, and she is certainly the latter. Bad enough she interrupted us over something so insignificant, she didn't have to waste even more time filling your head with pointless details!"

"I'm only eleven, Pitch," she reminded the spirit patiently. "I don't know how things work in the spirit world, but with humans there's rules about how old you have to be before you can be left home alone."

"Eleven is more than old enough. Do they think you are a fool?"

Climbing into bed, she found herself stifling a chuckle. _Who's the one wasting time over pointless details now?_

"No, but some people are," she said, trying to appease him so he would stop raving. "They have to ensure everyone's safety, you know."

"Yes," he sneered. "Save the helpless by smothering the powerful and intelligent with crippling rules. Apparently the human and spirit worlds aren't so different after all!"

She frowned, wondering briefly what he meant by that. Then she shrugged. It seemed that Pitch Black's list of offenders extended far beyond the still-unnamed dream-weaver, and with a personality as volatile as his, she wouldn't be at all surprised if every last spirit in existence had offended him at some point or another.

Therefore it would be stupid to waste time thinking about it.

Yawning widely, Cassandra lay down and pulled the covers over her head.

"What are you doing?" he asked sharply.

"Going to bed. I have school in the morning."

"I wasn't finished speaking to you."

"We can talk more tomorrow night. I'm tired."

"So you get to dictate to me when and how we speak?!"

She sat up again, turning to meet his fierce gaze. "Listen Pitch," she said firmly. "I don't mind speaking with you. In fact, I rather enjoy it. You can be an arrogant jerk sometimes, but it's still nice to know someone who doesn't treat me like an idiot or a freak all the time. I'm not trying to dictate to you. As you like to remind me, you are a spirit and a king, so who am I, a human and a child, to tell you what to do?"

Even though his golden eyes continued to reflect a mixture of rage and annoyance, a faint smirk touched his mouth at those words.

"As a human," she continued, "I have needs that you, a spirit, do not have. One of them is a regular sleep schedule. I don't mind talking with you, but I need to be free to call it quits whenever I have to so I can function during the day. Sorry if you take issue with that, but no matter how much you complain about it, it isn't something that I can change, so you really ought to save your breath."

Her speech concluded, she sat there in silence, waiting for his response. His face was oddly blank, making it impossible for her to guess what he was thinking.

Then he grinned.

"Bold but sensible demands," he mused.

"Not demands," she corrected smoothly. "Not dictations. It's just the way things have to be."

"I see." He studied her for a moment, and she looked back at him, wondering yet again what could possibly be going on within that labyrinthine mind of his. He finally commented, "You know I find you insufferable as well, yet I do not find your lack of fear affronting."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, not knowing what else to say in response to something like that. Was that even a compliment? It sure didn't sound like one. He had a really odd way of telling people he liked them, if that was, indeed, what he was aiming for.

"I shall return tomorrow night," he announced without bothering to ask if she was even available. He truly was as arrogant as they came.

"All right," she relented on a sigh. Lying down again, she muttered, "Good night, Pitch," but he was already gone.


	3. When Day is Better than Night (For Once)

Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay, but November has been hell month for me. I swear, my son's school has it's own private germ barrel that it dunks students into. In a ten day period he brought home flu, pinkeye and bronchitis. I mean, seriously, how does that even happen?! And, of course, all three made rounds through the house, so I've been sick literally every single day this month and making trip after trip to the doctor's. I'm honestly surprised I even survived haha. But anyway, I managed to get this chapter finished _finally_ , so hopefully it was worth the wait. :D

Thank you everyone for the views, follows and faves! I'm always glad to see that so many people like this story, especially since it's early on. Thanks for the reviews as well, they definitely keep me going! And I seriously can't believe how many of you like Barb so much when she's only been in the story about five seconds. Haha. But then again, I suppose that goes to show just how bad Cassandra's home life is. Anyone is better than who she's got at this point.

Please enjoy, and review if you can, I always love reviews. :)

* * *

The supposedly good news arrived at six thirty-three a.m., right in the middle of the chaos that turned out to be Barb's typical weekday morning. As neat and tidy as the woman kept her house, she was perpetually losing things, and having a yapping Chihuahua constantly underfoot certainly didn't help matters. They spent fifteen minutes combing the duplex for Barb's cell phone (turned out it was on the bathroom sink), only to then have to go looking for the mug of coffee she'd misplaced during the search (which, as it turned out, had somehow ended up on her bedside table). Once _that_ was found, the blonde sat down at the table to relax for a minute and read the morning paper, only to discover that her reading glasses were missing. She insisted she'd left them right there on the table, but Cassandra had yet to see a single pair of glasses anywhere in the house. Buttering her toast, the girl shook her head at the sight of Barb pawing through her kitchen, muttering under her breath about "those damned annoying things". That was when the phone rang.

Abandoning the search, Barb answered her cell. It was Randy. Carol had succeeded in pushing out an eight pound seven ounce baby boy, whom they'd apparently decided to dub "Harold". "Harold" was by far the worst name Cassandra had ever heard, and she'd heard some bad ones over her eleven years of life. A name that stupid just had to be Carol's doing.

Even Barb seemed wholly unimpressed by the choice. Though her tone remained polite and she congratulated Randy and Carol both, her brow lifted slightly whenever she said the baby's name. The moment she ended the call, she declared, "That is by far the _worst_ name I've ever heard! That poor, poor boy!"

Completely taken by surprise, Cassandra snorted out a laugh and nearly lost her mouthful of toast across the table.

"Say it, don't spray it," Barb chortled. The girl rolled her eyes, but one corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile.

All-in-all, it was an unexpectedly pleasant morning, one of the first Cassandra had ever experienced.

School went just as well as it could. Mr. Bennett talked non-stop, but otherwise there was no reason for complaint. She even escaped that afternoon with a relatively light homework load—just the back of a science worksheet and six math problems. She was just finishing it up when Barb returned from work. As the woman shrugged off her coat, she asked Cassandra what she wanted to eat for dinner. Wholly unused to being asked her preference about _anything_ , the girl stared dumbly at her.

Hearing the uncertain pause, Barb glanced over her shoulder.

"Pizza's always an option," she offered. "Or I can throw together some pasta, and I've got a bit of ham somewhere if you want ham and potatoes."

Closing her mouth so she could swallow the lump that had appeared in her throat, Cassandra picked ham and potatoes. Barb nodded and set to work, though she made a point of leaving the potatoes and a peeler on the counter with a casual, "If you get bored sitting over there."

Cassandra peeled every single one.

Dinner was delicious. For as forgetful as she was, Barb was quite adept in the kitchen. Cassandra had two helpings of ham and three of potatoes, prompting her hostess to say with a laugh, "My, my, it's like you haven't eaten in years!"

Cassandra didn't dare point out that it was, in fact, the closest thing to a decent meal she'd eaten in a long, long time. Her mom didn't cook, and it was becoming increasingly clear to her that Carol only cooked for those she cared about. Apart from school lunches, which she always got for free since neither of her parents made a lot of money, cereal and microwaveable foods comprised the vast majority of her diet.

In spite of her lack of comment on the issue, some sort of emotion must've slipped her typical mask of indifference and betrayed her thoughts, for Barb's laughter suddenly died away. Glancing up, Cassandra saw that the woman's green eyes were fixed intently upon her, as if searching her very soul for the truth. She quickly refocused on her plate and hoped nothing more came of the uncomfortable moment.

No such luck.

"How do you like living with your dad, Cassandra?" Barb asked quietly.

"Fine."

"Everything going all right?"

"Yes."

"Even with Carol?"

Not trusting herself to give a sensible verbal answer, Cassandra rolled her eyes.

"I know she can be a bitch sometimes," Barb advised, "but don't let her get to you. Giving in is the only way to lose with people like her."

Cassandra met the woman's gaze again, a hint of a perplexed look touching her oddly unexpressive face. "Isn't she your friend?"

"We're friendly, yes, but I'm also not ignorant. I know how petty she can be when she wants to be." Her expression was grave. "Carol's had it rough, especially with relationships. Because of that she can become quite possessive of her partners, growing irrationally jealous over the most innocent of people or situations. Blood relations are no exception."

Cassandra's laden fork froze halfway to her mouth, the succulent potatoes temporarily forgotten. Jealous? Carol's bitchy, petty behavior was all because the woman was _jealous?_ Over what?! She was Randy's daughter, yes, but genetics were the only thing the two of them shared. They hadn't seen each other in nearly ten years, not so much as a single phone call passing between them in all that time. Cassandra was under no illusions that the man really didn't give a shit about her beyond making sure that she didn't get him into any trouble. In all honesty, she couldn't even say why it was he'd decided to take her in instead of just letting his ex stick her into foster care like she'd threatened to do.

There was literally nothing there for Carol to be at all jealous about. Just how crazy obsessive did a person have to be in order to make a mountain out of a non-existent anthill?

She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer to that question.

After dinner, the two washed up then retreated to the living room to watch television while they ate dessert. Cassandra had never realized until that night how much she loved vanilla ice cream, nor how enjoyable a documentary on antelope could be.

"Look at that," Barb chuckled in amazement. She pointed with her spoon at the T.V., on which was displayed a hi-def. image of a cheetah tearing across the savannah after an ill-fated animal. "It looks like its flying!"

Cassandra hastily stuck a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth to smother the comment that bubbled up her throat. She'd been about to say "That's nothing like flying."

The rest of the evening was spent pleasantly enough, though Cassandra couldn't quite shake the feeling that things were starting to slip out of her control. Having never experienced any sort of amicable human companionship before, she hadn't known just how easily something odd (and, when it all boiled down to it, suspicious) could escape her mouth. It would seem her desire to avoid making friends had done her a bigger favor than she'd once believed, and yet no matter how terribly awkward a slip of the tongue would've been, Cassandra decided that she wasn't quite ready to give up on whatever it was that was shaping between her and Barb. Even if things ultimately went sour between them, she could at least enjoy the experience while it lasted. Then she would never have to waste time wondering what she'd missed.

Bedtime in Barb's house was eight-thirty. Cassandra had never had a bedtime before, as nobody had ever bothered enough with her to set one, but the blonde was strict about it.

"No kid in my house stays up late," she said, though it sounded like she was talking to herself as she was busy throwing wash into the dryer. "I go to bed at ten. You think an eleven year old is gonna stay up as late as me? Ha!"

Unable to argue with that logic, Cassandra went to bed and shut her door with a quiet snap at precisely eight-thirty. She turned around and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Would you _stop_ doing that?" she hissed indignantly.

"Doing what?" Pitch Black asked gruffly, clearly lacking any sort of idea as to what he'd done wrong.

She was more than happy to clarify for him.

"Sneaking up on people. It's really quite rude of you."

His retort was snarky. "Would you prefer raucous fanfare to announce my every entrance?"

Oh, two could play that game.

"Isn't that common for royalty? I thought you were a king."

He stiffened, and Cassandra instantly realized she'd gone too far. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he spoke first.

"Not that kind of king."

Golden eyes drifted away as the words quietly left his mouth, betraying the true depths of his hurt.

"I'm sorry," Cassandra said softly. "I shouldn't have said that. It was stupid."

"Yes, it was truly stupid of you to compare me to your lesser, _mortal_ royalty," he sniffed. He was doing his best to maintain his usual casual arrogance, but his tone was so incredibly haughty it was clear he was overcompensating. He was still upset about what she'd said.

"Really, Pitch, I didn't mean to hurt y—"

"My what?" he interrupted sharply. "My feelings?" He barked out a laugh. "Do not mistake me for some weak-minded fool. Words have no bite, they cannot hurt me!"

Except they could, and they had. Words may not be tangible, but Cassandra knew firsthand that they could be just as devastating as a physical blow.

And for some reason, the words that hurt Pitch most were ones that made a mockery of his being king.

 _Does he not like being king?_

No. No that couldn't be it. A person who constantly boasted of their status could not possibly detest it.

 _Then…_

Staring directly into Pitch's golden eyes, which had refocused on her brown ones, she thought hard about it, struggling to piece together what could possibly be going on within his head.

… _then is his position as king somehow in question? Does he bring it up all the time not just to remind others of his power, but to convince himself that he still has it?_

She'd read stories and seen movies with characters like that—arrogant men and women who spoke long of their position and boasted of their superiority, only for their companions to eventually discover that they, in fact, possessed none at all. Was Pitch Black like that? Did he proclaim himself to be a great and powerful king when in reality he held no prestige at all?

She couldn't help but wonder.

Having already rejected her apology twice, she knew Pitch wouldn't respond well to a third attempt. So she swallowed it back with a quiet sigh, and asked instead, "So what do you want to do tonight, Pitch?"

Fast as the wind, every last trace of his prior melancholy was gone, flawlessly replaced by his characteristic smirk. "I want to show you something."

"All right," she agreed, seeing no real reason why not.

Her suspicion grew somewhat when he extended a hand towards her. She frowned but otherwise did not budge.

"Come," he said, still holding his hand aloft as if waiting for her to take it.

"Why?"

His lip curled into a dangerously smug smile. "You'll see."

She wasn't at all pleased by those words, and yet, in spite of her intense wariness, she couldn't help but feel rather curious. Pitch wasn't the sharing sort. Anything he gave was offered for the sole purpose of getting something he wanted in return; their Q&A session last time had more than proven that. She hadn't promised him anything, and he had yet to make any demands of her tonight, so why was he looking at her like he had some horribly delightful surprise in store for her? Did it have to do with her magic? Had he discovered something pertinent but upsetting and was only acting this way in the hopes of gaining greater enjoyment from her discomfort? (Well, if that were the case then he was doomed to be disappointed. It had been years since Cassandra had felt truly upset about something, the last time being the afternoon her mother discovered her hidden tooth collection.) Did it really even matter what he was up to?

That last question surprised her, but only for a moment. Logic soon wove its way into her mind, and she asked herself the question again. Did it really, honestly matter what petty trick Pitch Black had up his sleeve? And in the same moment, she realized that no, no it did not. He had no reason to kill her, so it wasn't as if he would do that, and if he tried to harm her in any other way she always had her magic. Spirit or not, she imagined freezing a limb until it was blue and useless would still be an unbearably painful experience for the so-called Nightmare King.

By that reasoning, she had no reason to say no to him, did she?

Keeping the frown fixed firmly on her face to ensure he didn't get the wrong idea about her decision, Cassandra stepped forward and took his hand. His long fingers were surprisingly smooth, but also made her want to shudder. Touching Pitch Black reminded her very distinctly of how one felt whenever they made contact with something in the dark and had absolutely no idea what that object was supposed to be. It felt like he was there, yet wasn't there, completely whole but not entirely real, clearly _him_ and yet somehow distinctly _not_ him.

It was weird.

The moment she took his hand, Pitch stepped back, effectively pulling her into a massive black shadow that appeared without warning behind him. She opened her mouth with the intent of asking what it was, but no sound escaped as they were already hurtling through a thick mass of swirling black. Heavier than mist, yet somehow lighter than any shadow she'd ever known, it felt nothing like flying at all, more like she'd been shot out of a cannon into this nightmare-like place.

It was both the most exhilarating and overwhelming thing she'd ever experienced.

Within moments they were out again. Cassandra sucked in a breath (she was unsure of when, precisely, she'd begun to hold it), but just as she opened her mouth to ask Pitch what had happened, she was struck by the reality of where they were.

Or, rather, where they _weren't._

They weren't in her room anymore. Nor were they in her private shadow sanctuary or any other place Cassandra had ever visited. Looking around, she soon spotted two tiny forms sleeping in a single toddler bed. Twins, about two years old. One had abandoned his red racecar in favor of his brother's blue one, and they currently lay facing in opposite directions, yellow sand dreams dancing merrily above their little head.

She turned to Pitch so swiftly, she cricked her neck. "What are we doing here?" she asked, the words coming out hoarse in spite of her best efforts to remain calm. He may be invisible to most people, but _she_ was not. She could only imagine what would happen to her if she was caught lurking in some stranger's bedroom in the middle of the night.

He smirked, pressed one gray finger to his lips. Cassandra's eyes narrowed, her arms crossing indignantly over her chest.

"What are we doing here?" she repeated in a firm whisper, quietly demanding an answer.

His reply was nonchalant, as if their abnormal surroundings didn't bother him in the slightest. "I want to show you something.

He strode smoothly towards the bed. Cassandra studied the way his long, lean, black-robed figure loomed over the sleeping boys, and all of a sudden she was starkly reminded of the fact that this was Pitch Black, the Nightmare King.

 _Is that what he wants to show me?_ Her eyes grew wide once more as she saw the spirit's head cock slightly to one side as he observed the innocent dreams. _But why would he—?_

Understanding dawned on her the very same instant Pitch turned to grin at her. "Come," he said, waving at her to approach.

She refused to budge.

"I won't do it."

"Do what?" he asked, though his attention had already returned to the boys and it was clear that he was barely listening.

"You want me to try and mess with their dreams, to corrupt the sand as you do." She shook her head. "I won't do it."

"Why not?" He didn't sound at all concerned by her reluctance. It irritated her to think that he was convinced she'd try her hand at it, one way or another, as if she had no say in the matter.

"They're just children, Pitch. You cannot hurt them."

He scoffed at her. "It doesn't hurt them. See?"

Stepping back a bit so she had a clear view of the boys' dreams, he reached out with one long finger and lightly touched one of the images. Instantly the yellow grains began to turn black. The little boy quivered and whimpered, curled into himself beneath the blankets as the delightful kite-flying dream transformed into a hideous nightmare of a winged monster swooping down from the sky to snatch and eat him.

Cassandra glared at Pitch. "It looks like it's hurting them to me."

Finally starting to lose patience, Pitch glared unabashedly back at her. "Do you accuse the human mind of being cruel when it creates dark visions completely unbidden by my hand?" When she said nothing, he continued snappishly, "Then do not blame me for what I do. I do not hurt them, I never have. Fear is invaluable, without it children grow up wild and stupid."

Cassandra's brows rose slightly as she realized she couldn't come up with a reasonable argument for that. As foul and manipulative as he typically was, it seemed Pitch could also be surprisingly logical when the right mood struck him.

"You're right," she admitted.

He snorted derisively. "Of course I am!" Then he added in a dark mutter, "Though you're the first to admit it."

He stepped further back, waving his hand towards the second child. "I want you to try."

She stiffened. Pitch may have been right in that giving kids bad dreams wasn't nearly as awful as it had first appeared, but that certainly didn't mean she was prepared to try her hand at it.

Noticing her hesitation, Pitch coaxed her with calm rationality. "You said you are unable to shape dreams for others, but you also told me that your control over the yellow sand is one of your weaker abilities. That got me thinking: Perhaps it is possible for you to shape nightmares, as I do, it is simply a matter of you being unaware of this fact because you have never tried it before."

Such was true, and yet behind her carefully schooled expression, Cassandra swallowed thickly. It wasn't as if she had any real reason _not_ to try. Logically speaking, trying to shape a nightmare actually made perfect sense, a completely reasonable means of figuring out the limits of her magic without endangering anyone. The boys would be scared for a little while, yes, but the effects surely wouldn't last. Come morning they would be perfectly all right, and in all likelihood they wouldn't even remember that they'd been frightened in the first place. Hadn't she tried to shape a dream for another child before with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever? This was no different, really, and yet…it _did_ feel different, somehow, like she was about to break some sort of sacred rule. She couldn't think of any reason why creating a nightmare would be considered taboo, but instinct continued to scream at her not to do what Pitch had asked.

It was incredibly confusing.

Only a matter of seconds passed in which all of those conflicting thoughts and emotions paraded through her brain, and in that time Pitch continued to stare silently at her. When he finally spoke, his words were a quiet command.

"Do it."

Pushing aside the last of her reservations, Cassandra approached the blue racecar bed. Her gaze shifted between the boy on the left, who tossed fitfully in his sleep, and the one on the right, her intended victim (why did that word come unbidden to her head?), still enjoying his yellow sand vision. Stopping beside Pitch, the Nightmare King, she slowly stretched out a hand. Not quite sure what she was supposed to do, and receiving no instruction whatsoever from the spirit watching her, she called upon her shadow magic. Something cool and slightly menacing filled her, nothing at all like the warm, comforting feeling she usually received whenever she summoned the darkness. In that moment, standing beside the child's bed, she felt hyper-aware of the difference, and wondered yet again why it was that everything seemed so against what she was about to do.

 _It is not evil, yet it feels so vile…_

The lightest brush against the yellow sand was all it took. At once her power rushed to a single focal point within her fingertip before pouring out, effortlessly transferring to the boy's dream. Yellow darkened to black, playground swings morphed into a deep, dark pit from which nothing escaped, not even his terrified screams, and the boy began to shiver with terror.

Cassandra wrenched her hand away as if burned. Three quick steps put a safe distance between herself and the frightened boys. Her eyes refused to look at what she'd done, found Pitch instead. The man seemed quite pleased with her accomplishment, but his smile faded when he saw that she did not share his sentiment.

"Don't ask me to that again," she rasped. There was a fine sheen of sweat gathering on her brow, her every breath sharp and painful as she struggled to calm her racing heart. "Ever."

He studied her for a moment, his expression mildly confused. After a minute of awkward silence, he shrugged.

"Humans always were weak-willed. Even with your magic, I suppose you are no different."

The words were spoken with indifference, but he was betrayed yet again by his eyes. The golden orbs reflected an emotion that was somewhere between disgust and disappointment, and as he pinched the shoulder of her pajamas to teleported them back to her room at Barb's, Cassandra couldn't help but feel a little ashamed. It seemed Pitch had not only been curious to see whether or not she could successfully shape a nightmare, at least some part of him had been hoping she'd take to it and enjoy it.

That she hadn't bothered him, though he obviously wouldn't admit it.

"Pitch," she said softly as he turned to vanish into the shadows.

"What?"

His terse response didn't bother her. She was used to people being annoyed or aggravated with her. "I really am sorry about what I said before." Before he could reject her apology, she went on, "And I don't know why making nightmares bothers me. I honestly can't explain it. It just does."

He stared at her over his shoulder for a moment then blew a sharp breath between his lips. It wasn't—quite—a laugh, humorless or otherwise. "Given your affinity for darkness, I doubt it is of your own doing. Considering you bear four of their powers, I suppose it is only logical that some of their driving instincts have also been instilled within you."

She frowned, more confused than ever. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You bear unnatural hearing and sense of smell, yes?"

She nodded.

"Those are not magical gifts, but physical abilities, yet you still possess them." He really did laugh, then, but it was exceptionally bitter. "It seems magic was not the only thing you stole from them."

"From who?"

The name escaped him on a growl. "Guardians."

Them again.

"Who are the Guardians, Pitch?"

He waved a dismissive hand at her. "Another night. I'm tired."

He left before she could voice a single word of complaint.

* * *

It was quite a while before she saw Pitch again. The day after she touched the dream was a Saturday, and while Cassandra figured Barb would spend the better part of the day sleeping and the rest of it taking care of business around the house, the woman actually woke up before she did. She walked into the kitchen at six-forty-five to see the blonde reading the paper.

"Morning," she greeted cheerfully, taking a sip of coffee. "Got any plans today?"

"Not really," Cassandra muttered, shuffling over to the fridge. She felt like having eggs this morning.

"Wanna go swimming? The high school has an indoor pool, and they do Saturday morning swim. I try to go every week."

Cassandra glanced over her shoulder. Barb was looking at her over the rim of her coffee mug, patiently waiting for a response.

"I don't have a bathing suit," she pointed out quietly.

"Meh, just throw on some shorts or something. As long as you're covered I'll make sure they don't mind."

Cassandra blinked. It was definitely weird having someone offer to stand up for her, as no one else ever had, and a part of her was immensely curious to see if Barb would hold true to her word.

"All right."

"Great! Be ready by eight."

They spent two hours at the pool. True to her word, Barb made sure nobody bothered her about her lack of a bathing suit, despite numerous posted signs declaring one-piece suits mandatory attire, no two-pieces or t-shirts allowed. Cassandra enjoyed herself so much, she didn't even care that the chlorine ruined her clothes. She swam a few laps before lying back, completely relaxed as she floated along the surface of the water. Afterward Barb joked about her being a "water child", but really it was just a matter of her being very aware of her body and how it worked thanks to her flying experience. She knew how to bend and align herself just right to gain maximum buoyancy, distributing her weight so that she floated effortlessly whereas most others would eventually sink.

She didn't explain any of this to Barb, though. Some things were just better left unsaid.

They stopped by the deli to grab a light sandwich for lunch, and as they climbed back into the silver hatchback, Barb asked Cassandra if she wanted to stop by the hospital.

"Why?"

"To see your brother," Barb replied gently.

"I'll see him when they come back."

There was a moment of silence, and when the car didn't start Cassandra turned from the window to see Barb staring at her.

"What?" she asked, feeling a little uncomfortable.

"I know you don't consider them your family," Barb said quietly, "but don't take it out on the baby. Whether you like Randy or Carol or not, that boy hasn't done anything wrong."

"I'm not going to hurt him," Cassandra murmured, but even as the words left her mouth, she remembered the whimpers of that little boy whose dream she'd corrupted and was immediately filled with guilt.

"I know you won't, honey," Barb said gently, and Cassandra could tell that she meant it. "But hurt doesn't have to be physical. Like it or not, he's your little brother. He's going to look up to you, so try to take an interest and set a good example, okay?"

Thankfully she let the matter drop after that, as Cassandra didn't want to be forced into a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

The awkward conversation did little to dampen an otherwise pleasant day, the best day she'd had in a long, long time. Barb was easy to get along with, and had no problem giving Cassandra her space whenever she needed it. They could sit together in comfortable silence just as easily as they could chat about something important (or not important at all, as the case often was), which wasn't something Cassandra was used to. She liked it, though. She liked it very much.

That night she slept well. So well, in fact, she didn't even notice until the following morning that Pitch Black hadn't come to bother her.

Carol and Randy came home with the baby on Sunday, and Cassandra got her first look at her new baby brother. Her expression remained impassive, but truth be told she was far from impressed. Babies tended to fall into one of two categories: exceptionally cute or just plain ugly. Harold fell into the latter. His face was far too red, he had dozens of rolls all over his body (far too many for an eight pound baby, Cassandra was certain of it) and he had absolutely no hair at all. Not even eyebrows. Carol gave Barb some sort of medical-sounding excuse as to why that was, but Cassandra was convinced the boy was ugly simply because his mother was ugly.

 _Bad draw kid._

Well, there was always the chance he would grow out of it. One could only hope.

In spite of his ugliness and terrible name, Cassandra found that the newest addition didn't bother her nearly as much as she'd expected him to. He couldn't do anything except cry and poop (and he did an awful lot of both), but even so his personality was a sight better than his mother's. Carol basked in the limelight new motherhood shone upon her, practically preening every time a visitor came to see the baby. She hardly let anyone except Randy hold her son, insisting that it was for the sake of Harold's own health, and got this horrible, over-sweet smile on her face every time somebody paid her or the baby a compliment. The whole thing was just plain nauseating, and Cassandra evaded as much of it as she could, escaping outdoors or to Barb's whenever possible. While the girl knew better than to get her hopes up that the blonde's kindness would last, at least at Barb's she could get away from Carol and sleep in a real bed, even if it meant putting up with the ever-yapping Barney.

Between school and coming up with new excuses to avoid going home (which predominantly involved exploring every last nook and cranny of Burgess), Cassandra kept herself busy. Before she knew it, it was the Christmas holiday, and most of her usual escapes were temporarily lost. School closed and Barb left town to visit her brother in New Jersey, leaving her with no one but her dad and Carol for company for ten long days. She avoided them by disappearing outside as often as possible, but that meant ducking Mr. Bennett and his passel of tagalong kids (including that white-haired teenager, who seemed overly attached to both his hoodie and that large stick) at just about every turn. It was annoying, having to keep a constant eye and ear out for them, but it still beat being at home by a long shot.

Christmas Eve fell on a Thursday that year. Carol and Randy dressed up fancy, the ugly brunette even sticking her poor baby into a hideous suit so that he matched her dress, and set off at three for a friend's party. Cassandra was glad not to be invited. She finally had the house all to herself, and had every intention of using their extended absence to her advantage. This was the first opportunity for to make the long trip out to the Saint Lawrence River, and she reasoned it was as good a time as any to collect her memory box. And so, as soon as the others had gone, she switched on her iPod, tapped open a tunnel with her foot, and set off.

It was a long, _long_ jog. By the time she finally arrived, she panting and sweating, and silently thanking the fact that her dad didn't live even further away, like in Florida or something. The winter air felt good on her skin as she retrieved the box from its hiding place, then, all too soon, she was back in the tunnel. Gazing down the long expanse of semi-dark earth, Cassandra realized she really, _really_ wasn't looking forward to the return journey. So, to make the run easier, she lightened her body and called upon the wind. She couldn't outright fly down here—she'd already tried that once, when she was little, to no avail—but she could still use her flight powers to some degree while underground. With the wind's help, instead of the heavy footfalls of a normal human jog, she instead made great leaping bounds down the tunnel, each step now the equivalent of nine or ten regular ones.

It not only made the trip faster, but far more enjoyable.

Cassandra was just sealing up the hole in her dad's living room floor when she heard the front door open. Stuffing the memory box under the couch, she dashed to the bathroom and jumped into the shower, hastily scrubbing away the evidence of her venture.

 _Good thing I shortened the trip,_ she thought wryly as she washed her hair. It would've been extremely awkward trying to explain why she'd snuck out of the house on Christmas Eve only to return sweaty and covered with dirt.

Well, whatever. She had her memory box and she hadn't been caught, so it had all worked out in the end.

As she rinsed shampoo from her scalp, Cassandra inevitably missed the flash of color across the night sky that signaled the scheduled arrival of a certain jolly man.

* * *

A large gray shape bounded through the semi-darkness, struggling to catch up with the source of the disturbance before he lost it.

Again.

With a grimace that bared large front teeth, he moved faster, sprinting on all fours through the tunnel. This was not the first time the mysterious creature had taken advantage of his network, and one way or another he was determined to put a stop to it. In all his long centuries of existence, he'd never happened upon another being capable of creating or even entering his tunnels without his permission. Pitch's Nightmares were the only possible exception, having intruded upon his egg tunnels in the past, but he could tell by the scent that this wasn't any of the ratbag's minions. It was, in fact, a scent that he did not recognize. A fairly new spirit, perhaps? Another Jack Frost type determined to make his life miserable for virtually no reason other than to see the 'kangaroo' get annoyed?

Skidding to a stop at an intersection for not one, not two, but half a dozen tunnels, the Pooka snarled in frustration. They were careful, this elusive stranger, and cunning. They had yet to enter one of his tunnels, instead forging their own path within his network. As such, the scent was always faint at best, and easily lost, scarcely more than the vaguest hint that something was amiss. This was the closest he'd ever come to catching the culprit, but he'd been foiled yet again by the vanishing smell.

He raked a paw over his ears, a growl of annoyance rumbling deep in his throat. Who knew just how many more years would pass before the individual made another tunnel? They clearly didn't use them often (whether out of preference or out of caution, he didn't know and really didn't care), which only made it more difficult for him to track them down. This infuriating game of cat-and-mouse had already been going on for nearly ten years; if it dragged on much longer he was really going to lose his temper.

His furry face settled into a determined scowl. Whoever it was, he'd find them sooner or later. The strange being was cautious, yes, but Bunnymund still had the scent. There were only so many places in the world a serial trespasser could hide, and he was slowly but surely ruling them out.


	4. Out of Luck

Author's Note:

Well, to say I've been busy lately would be the understatement of a lifetime haha. I recently picked up a third part time job (nobody's hiring full time around here, those big dummies), and I have to defend my thesis on Monday so I have to prepare for that. Luckily I had this chapter already in the works before that all hit the proverbial fan, and I've also got another _Starfire_ one-shot and the fifth chapter of this fic drafted, so hopefully things will keep on rolling. Writing is my decompression, it relaxes me, so even when I'm stressed out I try to write at least a few lines. Slowly but steadily, am I right? ;)

 **Momochan77:** Good news! Your speculations will be answered in this chapter. To an extent, of course. (Mwahaha)

Anyways, please enjoy, and review if you can, I always love reviews!

* * *

Christmas Day went about as well as expected. Randy and Carol pawed all over each other as they gave each other gifts, then they all had to sit through about an hour of Carol opening presents for Harold because he was too little to work wrapping paper. Cassandra got a ten dollar gift card to the local gas station from her dad (apparently he thought she'd like their sandwiches), and a box from Amazon from Barb, which she hadn't been expecting at all. She cut it open with a kitchen knife to discover a black and sky blue bathing suit inside. Carol had a good laugh over that ("Its _winter_ for crying out loud!"), but Cassandra found a printed note card inside the box that read 'For Saturday swim.' She thought it was the perfect gift.

She put it to good use, too. As soon as Barb came back from New Jersey, she invited Cassandra to the pool, and before the girl could even realize what was happening the two of them had made a weekend ritual out of it. Swim until noon, then the deli for lunch (Cassandra never did use that stupid gas station gift card), and finally a quiet afternoon in Barb's living room. Saturdays became the highlight of Cassandra's week, especially when Randy and Carol started fighting. It started out as stupid little couples' spats that resolved pretty quickly, but by February they were having full-on shouting matches. This, of course, made Harold cry a lot, which further aggravated Carol and made her screech more, which obviously didn't help matters. More than once Cassandra got sick enough of the racket that she picked up the baby and carried him over to Barb's. The woman didn't even have to ask; she could hear the escalating noise through the walls.

When she couldn't escape the fighting, Cassandra distracted herself by practicing her magic. Locked in the safety and privacy of the bathroom, sometimes for hours at a time, she perfected the art of sculpting flawlessly detailed snowflakes. (It was a rather stupid thing to master, really, but she figured finesse was just as important as brute power when it came to magic, so it shouldn't be neglected.) She also spent quite a lot of time sending yellow sand figures, animals mostly, gliding or prancing around the room. The whimsy of it appealed to her, even though the careless freedom those creatures enjoyed left her feeling a little sad.

One night when the yelling was particularly brutal, a very strange mood struck Cassandra Fisher. She wasn't sure what prompted her to try, as she was still feeling a bit guilty over what had happened with those boys and was therefore rather leery about the whole thing, but it was probably when Carol screamed that Randy could go fucking die for all she cared. That comment shouldn't have bothered her, as she wasn't exactly attached to her dad, and yet it filled Cassandra with some dark, sinister emotion that she couldn't quite name. It pulled at her, called forth the darkness within her and prompted the shadows around her to shudder and creep up the walls. She lifted her hand, and with a bit of concentration discovered that she could now summon black dream sand—nightmare sand—just as Pitch Black could.

It felt…exhilarating! And empowering!

…and intimidating…

Little by little, she practiced with that sand, and though she didn't dare try to give anyone a nightmare, not even herself, she discovered that the sand was quite apt for making weapons. That she learned rather on accident. One moment she was sitting against the bathroom door listening to Carol's screeching voice, the next she glanced down and, startled, realized she was clutching a black sand knife. She hastily shook her hand to disperse the weapon, startled by its sudden appearance. But a few nights later she was tempted to try shaping one again, and came to discover that this newfound ability was just like her other powers. With regular practice, it was a cinch.

So that was what she did: she practiced regularly. After all, it would be stupid of her to waste a magical gift.

Right?

February fourteenth, Valentine's Day, found Cassandra lying on the couch enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. Her dad had placated Carol enough that the two of them had gone out for a late night movie, leaving Barb to watch their kids. She was currently in the kitchen trying to catch up on some work, the tap-tap-tapping of her laptop keyboard echoing faintly down the hall. All of a sudden, Cassandra was overcome with this intense feeling that something just wasn't right. She sat up, frowning slightly in concentration. She couldn't hear or smell anything amiss, and Barb didn't seem to have noticed anything either, but something was definitely wrong.

Leaving her blanket pooled on the floor, she wandered towards Harold's nursery, peering curiously into rooms as she went. When she got there, she stepped into the doorway and stopped dead in her tracks.

"What are you doing?"

Pitch Black turned his head to smile at her. He stood beside Harold's crib, hands clasped loosely behind his back. When he replied, his words were smooth and silky.

"I just wanted to meet the newest addition."

"Leave him alone."

He scoffed, waving one hand slightly as if shooing away a fly. "I never bother when they're this young. Their dreams are pathetic and boring, hardly worth the effort."

He stepped away from the crib. Cassandra saw a tiny ball of yellow dream sand hovering over her brother's head, and, true to what Pitch had said, the dream Harold was experiencing really wasn't anything worthwhile. In fact, it was hardly a dream at all; just vague shapes swirling in and out of focus.

 _He must be too young to have a proper dream._

She kept her gaze fixed firmly on Pitch. It had been months since she'd last seen him, and finding him in her baby brother's room after so long was incredibly suspicious.

"What do you want?" she asked, practically daring him to try and come up with a plausible excuse.

Turned out he already had one ready.

"I want to show you something."

Cassandra's expression darkened. The last time he'd said that to her, she'd ended up in some kids' bedroom shaping nightmares. She hadn't forgotten that night, and hadn't quite forgiven Pitch for talking her into doing it in the first place.

Her response was abrupt. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Not tonight, perhaps," he replied with easy confidence. "But you will go. Curiosity will get the better of you. It always does."

"What are you talking about?"

Sharp teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness. "Go to the pond outside of Burgess," he instructed, "after darkness falls on a night when the moon does not shine. Onyx will take you from there."

"Who?"

A smugly satisfied chuckle was all the response she got before she was left alone again. Cassandra growled and raked a hand through her hair. He really needed to stop doing that. Forget playing games and leaving her questions half-answered, his habit of constantly disappearing in the middle of a conversation was grating on her nerves.

It reminded her too much of her mom locking herself in her room whenever she didn't want to see or talk to Cassandra anymore.

She moved across the room to check on Harold. Her brother was fine, sound asleep with his tiny fists clenched on either side of his fat head. Reaching out with her magic, Cassandra searched but found no trace of shadow or lingering nightmare sand. It seemed Pitch really hadn't done anything to him.

What a weird guy.

Hesitating by the crib, she idly watched his shapeless dream and wondered about Pitch Black. As dark and twisted and cunning as he inherently was, it seemed there were limits to his wickedness. She recalled, vaguely, how he had seemed personally offended when she had insinuated that his touching dreams somehow hurt the children. That was a very strange thing for a spirit, the Nightmare King no less, to grow upset about, wasn't it? As far as humanity was concerned, it seemed his evil only extended as far as to torment and frighten kids.

And bothering Cassandra.

With a weary sigh, Cassandra left her brother's room and returned to the sofa. She would consider Pitch Black's offer, but only because she was, indeed, immensely curious over what he could possibly want after all this time. Why did she have to wait until the new moon? And just who the hell was Onyx? Another spirit perhaps?

She honestly had no idea.

At school the next day, she used a library computer to look up when the next new moon was. Turned out they'd just had one, and she would have to wait until mid-March for the next phase. She sighed and closed the internet browser. How very much like Pitch to give her specific directions only to make her sit around and wait for the appropriate time to carry them out. He must find annoying her deeply amusing.

In the time leading up to the new moon, Cassandra kept herself busy. At Barb's urging, she signed up for spring sports. She wasn't much into teambuilding and sportsmanship and all that, but it got her out of the house and gave her something to do now that she'd explored just about every inch of Burgess. Although she hated running, it took far less skill than either tennis or lacrosse, her only other options for the season, so she signed up for track and field. The first few weeks of practice were held indoors in the gymnasium, as there was still quite a bit of snow on the ground, and while Cassandra really couldn't stand how gossipy the other girls were, she had to admit that it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd expected it to be. There were a lot of workouts and stretching exercises, and they all got to try their hand at each event so the coach could get an idea of the kids' strengths and weaknesses and make recommendations. Cassandra liked Coach Sophie. She was pretty easy to get along with, and while she commanded respect, she did so without being overbearing. As long as you kept quiet while she was talking and did what you were told to do, she didn't have any rules, so it was a simple enough thing to keep her happy. Apparently she taught Phys. Ed. at the high school, which Cassandra found terribly ironic since the woman was quite the klutz. She was constantly dropping things and falling down for no apparent reason, the hapless aura she exuded oddly reminiscent of Barb.

Unfortunately, her opinion of the coach soured a bit on the eighth day of practice. Cassandra and the other girls were just getting ready to leave when one of the team members called, "Hi Mr. Bennett!"

Stifling a groan, Cassandra hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders and tried to leave the gymnasium, but the doors were blocked by the inevitable horde of hangers-on gathering in the corridor.

"Hey, guys!" his unmistakable voice replied. "Sophie still here?"

"She's in the locker room!" somebody told him, which prompted a groan from Mr. Bennett.

"Well, I can't go in _there,_ can I?"

The girls all laughed and tittered, though Cassandra couldn't imagine what was so funny. She pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, trying to escape before she had to listen to any more nonsense.

To her great annoyance, Mr. Bennett spotted her. "Hey, Cassandra Fisher! Fancy seeing you here."

Cassandra glared at the teacher. He saw her every damn day, so what was he so excited about? The man waded towards her, his path gradually clearing as student athletes began to disperse, and stood grinning down at her.

"So you signed up for track, huh? Good choice! Sophie's a great coach isn't she?"

"Uh huh." She was growing less and less appealing by the second, though. Just how the hell did the coach know this insufferable blabbermouth? Were they dating? Just the thought of that made her nauseous.

Sensing the unspoken question, Mr. Bennett explained, "Oh, you're probably wondering why I'm here, huh? Everyone else knows 'cause we've lived here forever. Sophie's my sister!"

Oh.

"We have a soccer team in the summer, part of the regional youth league. You should join!"

Not in a million years.

Coach Sophie appeared at that moment, lugging her heavy duffel bag across the gymnasium, and Cassandra took the opportunity to escape.

It was eight p.m., and the early March air was chilly. Not that Cassandra minded, of course, but the wind was starting to pick up, which _was_ annoying. Her hair was coming loose from its ponytail, and brown strands kept whipping her in the face, temporarily blinding her. She stopped once to fix it, and after that gave up and just let the wind have its way with it.

Crossing the main road, she cut through a back alley, a shortcut to the duplex. As it was growing late, she hoped Carol and her dad would be quieting down for the night, but her mind understood the fallacy of that unspoken wish. Carol was bitchy no matter what time of day, and lately it was just growing worse. She had a nagging suspicion the two of them would be breaking up soon, and she couldn't help but wonder what that would mean for her. Would her dad give her the baby's room once it was cleared out, or would he throw her out with the rest of the trash, clearing his daily life of obstacles so he could enjoy some freedom from responsibility?

She honestly had no idea.

Distracted as she was by her thoughts, Cassandra didn't realize she was being followed until it was far too late. She was slammed up against the side of the building, her breath escaping her on a heavy "Oof!" as a thickly accented voice declared, "Finally caught you, you sneaky rat!"

Hands balled into fists as she instinctively moved to defend herself, but the face that was suddenly very, very close to her own was so positively bizarre, she froze with her arm barely raised. Her protective mask of perfectly sculpted indifference fell completely away, leaving her jaw sagging stupidly as she gaped at what was unmistakably an enormous, gray, _talking_ rabbit.

 _What_

 _The_

 _Hell?_

The giant rabbit frowned, but made no move to remove himself from her personal space. If anything, he moved closer, eyeing her with growing confusion that didn't quite dispel the anger and frustration that was clearly evident on his overly hairy face.

"You're human?" he questioned. He drew a long, deep breath through his flat nose. His frown deepened. "It's you, all right. But that's impossible. You're human." The grip on her arm tightened considerably, stopping just shy of hurting her. "Who's helping you? Who's been letting you into my tunnels?!"

Tunnels? Cassandra's eyes widened fractionally. This giant animal was part of the spirit world too? And he could make tunnels just as she could?

Wait…Pitch had joked about her hearing and sense of smell reminding him of a rabbit. Could he have meant…?

 _Oh great._

"Let go," she said, firm voiced and stony faced. As bizarre as this situation was, she wasn't about to allow herself to be manhandled by anybody, rabbit spirit or no.

"Not 'til you tell me who's been helping you."

With a scowl, Cassandra drew upon her magic. The wind was already strong, so it didn't take much to convince it to help. A subtle motion with one foot was all it took, and a heavy gust shot down the alley towards them, knocking over a nearby garbage can. The heavy metal bang made her ears ring, and judging from the flinch on that too-close face, she was sure the rabbit spirit was in just as much pain. The falling garbage can knocked into something else, sending a whole lot of debris crashing to the ground. As expected, her accoster turned to see what was going on, momentarily releasing her as he dropped to a defensive crouch, almost as if he expected someone else to be there. In that moment of distraction, Cassandra slipped into the shadows and fled. With his back turned, the rabbit didn't see her go, and though his attention was diverted for only a moment, it was enough. He realized she was gone and cursed freely, a mixture of accented slang and rather choice English, but Cassandra didn't hang around long enough to hear more than a bit of it.

She sped home as fast as she could, emerging from the safety of the shadows only when she stepped around the corner of her dad's half of the duplex. She trotted up the steps and ducked inside, closing the door quickly behind her. Slumped against the cheap false wood, panting from a mixture of exertion and shock, she thought: _What the hell?!_

What _was_ that?! The hell kind of a spirit was a giant rabbit? And what did it want with her?

After a moment of breathless silence, she laughed quietly. _His_ tunnels? Who was he to claim sole ownership over dirt? She'd never seen hide or hair of him in all her years traveling underground, so what gave him the right to act indignant over what were clearly _her_ tunnels?

She shook her head. Whoever that rabbit was, he was truly arrogant and stupid.

 _Here's hoping we never meet again._

That particular thought gave her pause. The rabbit spirit had said that he'd _finally_ caught her. That meant he'd been looking for her, didn't it, and for quite a while too. It was unlikely he'd give up just because she'd slipped away from him once, especially now that he knew where she lived.

She pondered her options. Burgess wasn't that big. Sooner or later he'd stumble upon her again, possibly even here at the duplex. It was strange for people to see Pitch Black, but the Nightmare King had said that other spirits _could_ be seen. The last thing she wanted was to try and explain to Carol and her dad why there was an enormous talking rabbit in the house.

But she couldn't leave either. The only other relative she knew was her mom, and no way in hell was she ever going back there. She might just as well walk herself to the nearest Child and Family Services office and turn herself into foster care. And that was her only option if she packed up and left: foster care. Barb might take her in for a few days, but nobody would put up with her forever, not even the blonde. Besides, it would be pointless to go to Barb's, as it was literally next door. If the rabbit could find her here at her dad's, he could just as easily find her on the other side of the duplex.

Staying was always an option, of course, but who knew what would happen when she and the rabbit spirit met again. One could hope he'd do the decent thing and wait until she was alone, right?

Cassandra heaved a long sigh and straightened up from the doorframe. Tomorrow night was the first of the new moon. She would wait and hope the rabbit spirit didn't turn up before her appointed meeting with Pitch Black. While she couldn't always trust what he said, the Nightmare King knew far more about the spirit world than she did, and, at the very least, knew who the rabbit spirit was. Maybe he could give her some information in addition to whatever else he had planned.

Maybe…

* * *

"Find him?"

"Oh, I found her all right. Then the sneaky little hoon got away again!"

Jack cocked one slim eyebrow. "Quite slippery, is _she_?"

"Oh, rack off!" Bunny snarled as Jack sniggered. "This ain't funny! This ain't some spirit getting on my nerves, this situation is serious!"

"Serious?" North stuck his head around the doorway. Considering Christmas was several months behind them, the big man had found himself with quite a bit of time on his hands, which he seemed determined to fill by eavesdropping. "How serious?"

"Get this." Bunny's furry arms crossed over his chest, his face set into an irate scowl. "The one getting into my tunnels ain't a spirit. It's a human!"

"A human?"

"Yeah, and she's got someone powerful helping her. They teleported her away the second my back was turned!"

Jack frowned as he pondered that.

"Where you find her?" North asked, striding into the room to properly join the discussion.

The Guardian of Hope barked out a humorless laugh. "That's just it. The ankle biter lives in Burgess."

"Ankle biter?" North repeated at the exact same moment Jack echoed in confusion, "Burgess?"

"Yeah. It's a wee kid, 'bout ten or eleven maybe. And she lives in Burgess, of all the bloody places."

Jack heaved a long sigh. "Why is it always Burgess?"

"Dunno. Magic seems drawn to that place like flies to dung." Uncrossing his arms, the Pooka announced, "I'm going back."

"Huh?"

"I'm going back to find her. I don't care what anyone says—I wanna know who it is making those tunnels and why they've enlisted some human's help."

"Sounds like mule," North rumbled gravely. "Chose child for work knowing you would not hurt her."

"Yeah, but _why_? What's the ratbag up to that he'd use a human like that?"

"I'll help you," Jack declared before the Russian could reply. "I know Burgess better than anyone, and I know most of the kids. Maybe we've met before." Just the thought of a spirit taking advantage of a child, particularly a child of Burgess, his own hometown, infuriated him. He'd help Bunny out in any way he could.

"Bring her here," North instructed them. "Must talk about this." He started to walk away, but had an afterthought. "Bring Jamie too. If Jack is not her friend, having another human here will help."

Jack and Bunnymund both nodded. It was a good idea. On the off chance this child wasn't familiar with the Guardian of Fun, the presence of a believing human would certainly make the bizarre situation easier on her which, in turn, would make things easier on everybody.

"Have some yetis ready," the Pooka advised the Guardian of Wonder. "If this spirit is malevolent, he won't take kindly to us interfering with his plans. We might need the extra muscle."

North's expression was grave as he nodded. "Will do."

"Ready?" Bunny inquired of Jack, tapping open a tunnel.

"Yep."

Bunny leapt easily into the opening, and Jack soon followed, pausing only to snag a snow globe from a nearby table.

Just in case.

* * *

The following day passed by without Cassandra catching sight of the rabbit spirit. She didn't see Carol at all, either, as the woman had apparently decided to spend a few days with some friend across town. (Bitch had friends besides Barb? Now _there_ was a big surprise.) While she was more than happy to have the house to herself, as the sun began to set on the horizon and her dad still hadn't come home, Cassandra began to wonder where he was. After a bit of contemplation, though, she shrugged.

It really didn't matter where he was. He could be on the moon for all she cared. It was quiet, and she was alone, meaning she wouldn't have any trouble meeting Pitch Black tonight.

Perfect.

Leaving the bathroom after brushing her teeth, Cassandra happened to glance into the living room and thought of the memory box. It was still hidden under the couch, for she hadn't thought of a better place for it yet. As small of a town as Burgess was, it was perpetually busy, and she just hadn't found a truly safe space to stash her memorabilia.

She sighed. She'd worry about that later. Right now, she had something important to do.

To avoid the risk of Barb spotting her and asking uncomfortable questions, Cassandra slipped into the shadows and did not emerge again until she was down the street. It was a quick walk to the pond now that there was no snow to slow her down, and when she reached the water's edge she stopped. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her lightweight spring jacket (worn purely for show), she waited for this Onyx person to appear.

And waited.

And waited…

After nearly an hour of standing there feeling stupid, Cassandra started to get annoyed. Was this some sort of joke? She wouldn't have expected something this petty from the Nightmare King.

But then again, he always was flipping the script on her in regards to his character. Dark and threatening one moment, downtrodden the next. At first smug and haughty, then suddenly distant and distracted.

She'd probably never understand him.

Her keen hearing suddenly picked up the sound of an approaching creature. She frowned slightly. Judging by the gait, the creature had four legs, not two, so it wasn't Pitch or any other humanoid spirit. And it couldn't be that strange gray rabbit…the steps weren't soft enough.

Curious, she turned her head to look, and from the darkness emerged a horse, black as the sky with glowing, pupil-less golden eyes. It took only a moment for Cassandra to realize that the horse was shaped from nightmare sand.

That could only mean one thing.

"You're Onyx?" she asked.

The horse stopped a short distance from her. Though its eyes barely moved, Cassandra could tell that it was staring her up and down and was wholly unimpressed by what it saw. The girl glared shamelessly back.

"You're here to guide me, not judge me," she snapped.

Rather than react negatively to those sharp words, however, her irritation (for whatever reason) seemed to impress the black sand horse. It whickered faintly, turned, and trod back into the trees. Cassandra followed at once, any hesitation or irritation blasted away by the return of her curiosity. Could she also learn to shape horses like that? She realized then that she had never tried to make animals with nightmare sand before, and wanted to slap herself for sheer stupidity. Shaping animals out of dream sand was as natural as breathing, so why hadn't she ever thought to try and shape nightmare sand animals before?

And this one was moving independently, as if it had a truly sentient mind, whereas her sand creatures were always limited in their mobility and cognizance. It was simply fascinating.

Onyx led her through the woods for a ways before disintegrating into a thick sand tendril and disappearing down a hole. It wasn't a rabbit tunnel, Cassandra knew that right away just from looking at it, but she wasn't entirely certain why Pitch Black would lure her underground. Was he trying to give her an advantage to make her feel more secure? Somehow she didn't think that was the case. Peering over the edge, she couldn't see or hear anything of note, but that only served to make her more suspicious.

Well, she'd come this far, and like it or not she needed information on that rabbit spirit.

Looked like she was going down.

With the wind to lighten her fall, Cassandra dropped into the hole. The opening deposited her into some sort of cavern, which she negotiated with ease thanks to her keen night vision. It was remarkably gloomy, and the deeper into the hole she went the louder her shadow magic called out to her. It felt like there was a tsunami building up inside her body, a towering wall of power, gathering and gathering, just waiting for the right moment to break free and crash through her and back out into the world.

It was the most exhilarating and alarming thing she'd ever experienced in her life.

Stepping out of the cavern at last, Cassandra found herself in some sort of massive room. It looked like it had once been a massive great hall, but it was predominantly collapsed so that much of it was wholly unrecognizable as anything other than piles of broken black rock. There was a crumbling walkway high above her head, and as she craned her neck to look at it, she spotted what appeared to be dozens of black iron cages hanging suspended from the ceiling.

That was definitely weird.

"Welcome."

The disembodied voice of Pitch Black startled her, and when she jumped she heard him chuckle. She glared around the room, but of course couldn't see him.

"What is this place?"

"So many questions," he sighed. He appeared from the shadows nearby, striding towards her with the ease and comfort she'd come to recognize as his signature when he felt completely in control. Casting a careless glance around, he inquired, "What do you think?"

"It's…" Cassandra honestly couldn't think of an appropriate adjective. 'Nice' was condescending, and far from the truth, but 'horrible' was just as wrong. She didn't hate it, but it wasn't very appealing, either.

"Maybe with some renovations it would be acceptable," she grumbled at last.

Pitch threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, well, I have no patience for such tedious activities."

"Do you live here?" She could picture it, the so-called Nightmare King living in a place like this. It was certainly grand enough in size to assuage the conceit of a king, yet was dilapidated enough to all-but confirm for Cassandra what she'd already come to suspect.

Pitch Black was a powerless ruler, a king without subjects or authority or even basic respect.

And his house looked like a bomb had exploded inside of it.

Pitch made no effort to answer her question, but as the answer was pretty obvious she didn't fault him for it. Something else had drawn her attention, anyway: a large metal object on the far side of the room.

"What is that?"

Pitch glanced around. "Ah, that. That is my globe."

He gestured towards it, indicating without words that she could take a look. Aided by the wind, Cassandra did precisely that, leaping lightly over scattered debris to stare up at the massive black sphere. It was dotted with countless golden lights, which glimmered faintly in the dark as the globe spun slowly on its pedestal.

"Are the lights other spirits?"

The Nightmare King made a noise between his lips. "I wish."

She studied the lights, thinking hard. They were not spirits, so they had to represent people, right? But there were far too few for there to be one for every human in existence. She examined the globe carefully, noting how there seemed to be more lights on certain continents (and, in fact, in certain countries) than others. That had to mean something.

"Are they humans who can see spirits?" she said at last, the words coming out slowly as she was unsure of her own answer.

A leering smile spread wide over Pitch's gray face. "Clever for a brat, are you not?"

She scowled at him.

"Each light represents a child who believes," he explained, ignoring the dark look she was giving him. "In time more will be added, while others eventually go out. They are always shifting."

Cassandra thought about that, eyeing Australia as the island continent slowly but surely made its way past her. "They lose their belief as they grow older, right? And not all children believe because of different cultures and upbringings."

"Precisely. You know, I really do enjoy a sensible conversation. Stupidity irks me like almost nothing else."

Oddly enough, she had to agree with him on that.

"So why do you have this?"

"What?"

She turned her head to look at him, studying his expressive face as he responded to her question: "I know humans do not see you. That's why you found it so odd that I can. So why do you have a globe that shows children who believe in spirits and can see them if these lights mean nothing to you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say 'nothing,'" he said with a cunning smile. "Let's just say that I have a…invested interest in those children who believe."

"Does it have to do with the Guardians?"

He stared at her for a moment before responding. "Perhaps," he purred evasively, that smug smile not wavering one bit.

Cassandra had suspected as much. From what little she knew about them, the Guardians seemed to be Pitch's enemies, so it only made sense for his fascination with those globe lights to be somehow connected to them.

"Is a giant gray rabbit one of the Guardians?"

The smirk finally faded as he blinked, surprised. "You saw him?"

"Yesterday on my way home from school. He jumped me in an alley."

"He attacked you?"

He sounded incredibly skeptical, though she didn't bother to ask why. Pitch was in a rare, loose-tongued mood tonight, and she wanted to keep pertinent information flowing out of his normally tight lips for as long as possible. Wasting time on pointless questions would be stupid.

"I wouldn't say 'attacked', more like accosted. He demanded to know who was helping me get into _his_ tunnels." She scoffed at the very idea. _His_ tunnels, indeed.

Dark brows lifted when he heard that. He murmured in a voice so quiet she barely heard him, even with her incredible hearing, "It would seem it's not as preemptive as I'd thought."

"What isn't?"

He looked startled for a moment, as if he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. Then his smile swiftly returned, only this time it was overly pleasant, like a con man trying to charm his way into getting what he wanted. "I have something for you."

Cassandra's response was immediate. "I don't want it."

"No? I thought children loved presents."

"You don't seem the gift-giving sort." Not unless it was a cobra in a box, or some other horribly twisted gift.

He didn't even deny it. "Normally I'm not, but I decided to make an exception for you."

"Thanks," she said, the word positively saturated with sarcasm. She repeated her earlier declaration. "I don't want it."

"Your birthday is in two weeks, yes?"

"How did you know that?"

He grinned wickedly. "You'll be surprised by what I know."

She didn't like the sound of that.

He continued without pause. "Just think of it as an early birthday gift, if that is what you prefer."

With a casual wave of one hand, the gift appeared out of nowhere, riding a small cloud of black nightmare sand. It wasn't wrapped, not that she'd expected it to be, and even with the distance of about half a dozen yards separating them, Cassandra could see that it was some sort of folded cloth.

"Clothes?"

"Take it," he offered, still holding the present aloft. "You'll see."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. It's just a gift."

She wasn't sure she believed that, but even so she was loath to reject it. She'd never received a birthday present before. Her mom had never given her a single cake or card (honestly, Cassandra didn't think the woman even remembered when her own daughter's birthday _was_ ), and her dad had made no mention of it either, before or after he'd started fighting with Carol. Barb had given her a Christmas present, but that was different. Cassandra had never been fond of Christmas, as she'd never understood the point of such a dumb holiday. Birthdays, however, were a mark of not only how old you were, but a celebration of the fact that you'd been born at all. It always made you think: Just how in the hell did two tiny cells filled with random information make _me_? For Cassandra, those questions burned especially hot with each passing of March the twenty-eighth, because she wasn't just an oddity. She was an impossibility. A human with magic? Born from _her_ parents? The odds were so impossibly slim, and yet it had happened. While other kids were always so excited about cake and presents and making ridiculous wishes as they blew out pastel-colored candles, all Cassandra wanted each year was to finally get some answers.

What Pitch was offering to her right now wasn't an answer, but it was a rather nice gesture all the same. Regardless of whether or not there were dark strings attached to his gift, the simple fact that he'd made the effort to find out her birthdate was, on it's own, enough to make her want to accept.

Stepping forward, Cassandra gingerly took the present from him. It was, indeed, clothes, but not what she was expecting. It was a long black cloak, made from material similar to Pitch's own trademark robes. The globe's golden lights reflected off of the iridescent cloth, giving it an ethereal glow. As she held it at arms' length, studying it with rapt attention, Pitch spoke to her again.

"Try it on."

She complied, swinging the cloak around her shoulders and fastening the clasp. As soon as it settled against her body, she felt the first flicker of…something. Raising one hand, she deftly drew up the hood and had to stifle a gasp.

Being inside the cloak was almost exactly like being inside her shadow sanctuary. It was warm and comforting, a gentle yet powerful embrace, wrapping her up in darkness to keep her safe. It was like she was invisible in the middle of the room, even though she knew she wasn't really because Pitch Black was still watching her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you," she breathed, reaching out a hand to stroke at the folds of material.

"So you accept?"

"Of course. Thank you, Pitch."

So distracted was she by admiring the cloak, she missed the truly wicked leer that flashed across his face.

"You're very welcome my dear."

* * *

A short time later, Cassandra was back in Burgess, heading home. Her cloak was folded neatly and zipped up inside her jacket, safe and hidden just in case her dad was home when she got back. She didn't need him shouting at her about accepting gifts from strange men.

 _How old is he anyway?_ She wondered. Did age even matter for spirits?

Why was she even thinking about that? It was stupid and pointless.

She made it home without incident, and was relieved to know from the silence and darkened rooms that neither Carol nor her dad was home. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was nearly midnight. It was a Friday, so her dad was probably at the bar having himself a grand time without Carol there to bitch at him.

 _Enjoy it while you can,_ she thought ruefully, heading for the living room. She was just about to unzip her coat when she caught whiff of something that was, unfortunately, quite familiar.

"Hello, mate."

Cassandra whipped around. There was the rabbit, leaning against the doorframe leading to the two bedrooms. His arms were crossed, long ears pulled back as he scowled at her.

"Bit late to be wandering around alone, ain't it?" he asked, his accent annoying her far more than it should.

"You're not the boss of me," Cassandra snapped childishly. She was too irritated by the intrusion to care. "Go away and leave me alone."

"Can't do that." The rabbit straightened up, arms falling to his sides. "See, here's the thing." Slowly but surely he started to move towards her, talking as he went. "You're a human, but you dabble with spirits. You don't believe in us Guardians, but you can still see me."

Well, that certainly answered her question about whether or not the rabbit spirit was a Guardian. Pitch never did give her an answer to that particular inquiry, and she'd been too distracted by his gift to even think of it.

She stood her ground firmly even though the rabbit didn't stop until he towered over her, emerald green eyes boring into her brown ones. Her one saving grace in this current mess was that, from the sound of things, the rabbit spirit didn't think that the magic was her own. It seemed he thought she was allied with another spirit, and that _they_ were the one making the tunnels and had helped her escape the other night.

If she played her cards right, maybe she could wiggle her way out of this without revealing the truth.

"Who are you?" the rabbit asked, flat nose twitching as he eyed her.

Her response was exceptionally cool. "Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself first?"

Strange. She distinctly remembered having this conversation before. Was every member of the spirit world this rude and demanding?

She sure hoped not, otherwise it would prove to be a great disappointment.

The rabbit's lip curled into a sneer, revealing large front teeth. "I asked first, mate. And _I_ ain't the one messing with other spirits' property!"

"I don't recall anyone putting a claim on dirt. Do you get mad at everyone who uses subway trains too?"

A snicker drew her attention briefly from the rabbit and to a nearby window. To her shock, it was the white-haired teenager that always hung around Mr. Bennett, crouched on a chair like some sort of monkey. That stupid stick of his was cradled against his shoulder.

"She's got you there, Bunny," he said, grinning at the large rabbit.

"Shut up," the rabbit spirit said rudely.

This boy could see spirits too? But neither Pitch nor this rabbit had ever mentioned that he could or seemed interested in his ability to do so.

Wait…wait, did that mean he was a spirit too?! She'd been seeing a spirit all over Burgess for _months_ and hadn't known?!

She wanted to slap her own forehead for the sheer stupidity of the situation, but instead covered her surprise with a scowl.

"Did you let him in?" she asked the boy, flicking her dark gaze towards the rabbit spirit, who was still looming over her.

"Hey, don't look at me," the boy said, lifting his hands, palms-out, as if to ward off her accusations. "I followed _him_ , not the other way around."

The rabbit growled low. "This ain't getting us anywhere! Tell us what's going on, and we can forget about all this."

"But North said—"

"I don't care what North said," he interrupted the boy spirit. He turned his attention back to Cassandra, but not before the girl saw a look of dawning understanding cross the white-haired spirit's face. _So they're trying to play me, are they?_ "Give us some answers, kid," the rabbit spirit continued, "and we'll let this alone."

She folded her arms, firmly yet silently declaring her refusal, and stood glaring mutely at him. As she still wasn't entirely sure how she ought to go about getting herself out of this, she decided to wait until these spirits made their move. A good rebuttal was better than a weak—or, worse, potentially damning—slew of unguided words.

Unfortunately, her plan backfired miserably. Upon realizing that she wasn't going to answer, the rabbit heaved a sigh. "Well, guess that answers that. Jack."

The white-haired boy flicked his wrist, tossing something towards Cassandra. She quickly side-stepped, but it turned out he hadn't been aiming for her at all. Rather, he'd thrown the object _behind_ her, and before Cassandra could get a look at it and discern what it was, the thing had burst into a blinding show of shimmering light and color.

 _What the—?_

Briefly distracted by the impressive demonstration of magic, she didn't see the rabbit spirit move. Smoothly adjusting his stance, he lashed out with a sharp but precise kick, unceremoniously pushing her into the swirling magical portal. She fell, and fell hard, momentarily blinded by light and deafened by whooshing wind before landing heavily on solid ground. Breath was instantly knocked out of her, and she lay for a moment of time, gasping.

"Cassandra?"

The sound of her name, spoken in a tone that was pure surprise, seized her attention at once. Still lying there on the floor, Cassandra turned her head and saw none other than big-mouthed Mr. Jamie Bennett staring down at her, his face twisted with confusion. Standing with him were a fat, balding man with a long white beard, a tiny little man who was entirely yellow, and something that could only be described as a flamboyantly colored bird-lady, who had three smaller bird-like things hovering over one shoulder.

Only one word came to her mind:

 _Shit._


	5. Discovered

Author's Note:

Thank you very much for all the reviews, views, favorites and follows! I forgot to mention you guys last chapter, my apologies, so a heartfelt welcome to everyone new and returning since chapter 3. I greatly appreciate all the positive feedback. :D

 **Momochan77:** To be honest, I was originally gonna write off the coach as an unnamed side character and introduce Sophie another way, but then I had this idea that since Sophie falls down all the time in the movie and is portrayed as being rather clumsy, it would be amusing to see her as the coach. It's just oddly fitting, as you so aptly put it.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Just read on, you'll see. *grin*

 **Silversun XD:** Yes, yes they are.

 **GMWW:** Thanks! :)

 **Adby1:** I take it you meant you are amused, right? If so, then I'm happy because I also find Cassandra's gloomy-yet-clever (and somewhat smart-mouthed) attitude pretty funny.

 **Guest:** It's good to hear you're intrigued, it _is_ a mystery after all. ;)

Please enjoy!

* * *

Cassandra got slowly to her feet, not taking her eyes off the odd assembly before her. They stared unabashedly back at her, though Mr. Bennett at least had the decency to chuckle awkwardly.

"Well," he said, "this is certainly unexpected. I didn't imagine it would be you."

"So you know her then?"

That was the rabbit spirit. He'd appeared from a tunnel and now stood with the others, closely followed by the white-haired boy.

"Yeah, she goes to my school." The teacher's face pinched into a frown. "How come you can see the Guardians? You don't believe in them."

"How would you know—" she began, but stopped short halfway through the pointed question. Her gaze flicked over the others, taking in their bizarrely unique appearances.

Wait…

"Santa?" she asked skeptically, and the fat bearded man lifted his hands in a casual shrug. She then eyed the annoying rabbit spirit. "Easter Bunny?" A scowl was all the response she got from that one.

Cassandra couldn't believe it. The blabber-mouth Mr. Bennett had been telling the _truth_? All those stupid stories about Santa and the Easter Bunny had all been real? That would mean the weird bird-lady was the Tooth Fairy, right? And the white-haired kid was probably Jack Frost. It took a second look for her to realize who the yellow man was. The dream weaver! (He was a lot shorter than she'd pictured him to be, and far more yellow, but as she already knew the true extent of his power, she wasn't about to hold either of those things against him.) It dawned on her then that Pitch Black was right: her gifts really were copies of the Guardians' magic. Tunnels from the Easter Bunny, ice and snow from Jack Frost, tooth collecting from the Tooth Fairy, dreams from the dream weaver…

She didn't know what she had from Santa Clause. Hopefully nothing. It was embarrassing enough to be associated with these weird, childish spirits without having to add Santa to the mix.

The gathering silence was broken by an increasingly irate rabbit spirit.

"Great, so you know who we all are," he snapped impatiently. "Now tell us how you're getting in and out of the tunnels so we can be done with this."

"Bunny," the Tooth Fairy chided gently, but he snapped at her too.

"I've got things to do, you know. Easter's only in a couple of weeks! I've got loads of googies to paint!"

Before Cassandra could retort, a whole group of little fairies flew towards them, straining to carry a familiar metal box.

"Hey, give that back!" the girl cried indignantly. She made to snatch the memory box, but the burdened fairies were saved when another of their comrades appeared out of nowhere and pecked the back of Cassandra's hand with her beak. "Ow!"

"What's this?" Jack Frost asked, eyeing the box curiously as the little fairies delivered it to the much larger Tooth Fairy.

"It's mine!" Cassandra yelled, cradling her sore hand. "Give it back!"

Ignoring her, Tooth Fairy took the memory box from her fairies, popped it open, and gasped.

"Oh! The missing premolar from sector eleven! And the left lateral incisor from sector nine, I thought we'd lost that! Ohhhh, these are yours, aren't they? We haven't collected any from you before, so that's wonderf— The bicuspids from sector one!"

She pulled baggie after baggie of teeth from the box as she spoke, appearing more shocked with each one she found. When her hands were full, purple eyes flew up to stare in disbelief at the human child. " _You_ were the one who took them?"

Five additional pairs of eyes bored into her. Cassandra swallowed but said nothing. The folded cloak hidden under her jacket suddenly felt like it weighed five hundred pounds. She had to fight the urge to fold her arms protectively over it.

"Great," the rabbit spirit grumbled. "Not just a trespasser, but a thief!"

She glared at him, her voice returned in an instant. "I'm not a thief!"

"Yeah? You're just holding onto them, then, eh? Did that spirit give them to you to hang onto?"

Tooth Fairy was too busy passing teeth off onto her little fairies to offer further comment. They flew through the hole in the ceiling and disappeared, most likely headed to some place no human could ever reach, with or without the aid of magic. Cassandra watched them go with something akin to grief bubbling up inside her gut. All that work, all those memories…gone just like that.

They hadn't even asked if it was okay to take them from her.

Anger filled her then, anger and frustration and despair, and in that moment Cassandra Fisher decided (with the possible exception of the dream weaver) that she absolutely despised the Guardians.

The annoying rabbit spirit was still talking, filling the large room with his stupid accent.

"So what's his name then? Must've known each other a long time, considering when those teeth were stolen and when you started helping yourself to my tunnels."

"They aren't your tunnels!" Cassandra snapped, losing some of her common sense in the face of her growing indignation. Who did these spirits think they were?! "Who are you to throw accusations at people?! You don't know me! You have no idea who I am and have no proof that I've done anything wrong!"

"You had those teeth," the rabbit began, but she interrupted him.

"Maybe I found them. Maybe they were lying on the side of the road and I picked them up and kept them because I thought they were interesting."

He snorted. "I highly doubt that."

"But you don't _know_ , do you? What happened to 'Innocent until proven guilty', or are you Guardians somehow exempt from that? You don't even know for sure that it was me going into those tunnels!"

"I _do_ know it was you," the rabbit retorted, each word sharp as a knife. "Your scent is incriminating!"

"Maybe the real culprit stole something of mine and used it to throw you off the real scent." When he scoffed at that, too, she continued insistently, "How do you know, huh? When did those teeth of yours go missing?"

Her eyes fell upon the Tooth Fairy, who looked rather uncomfortable getting dragged into the heated argument. She offered the information quietly, hesitantly. "They started disappearing about ten years ago."

"'Round the same time tunnels first got invaded," the rabbit snapped. His arms folded firmly across his hairy chest. "Coincidence, is it?"

Cassandra refused to back down. "Ten years ago I would've been barely two years old. Are you saying a _two_ year old is guilty of stealing teeth? Are you suggesting some spirit convinced a _two_ year old to help them in their plot against you?"

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, but that was the point. With the exception of the rabbit spirit, all of them, including Mr. Bennett, suddenly looked rather uncertain about the whole thing.

"Send me home," she insisted. "Send me home before my dad gets back and wonders where the hell I am."

"My fairies are keeping an eye on your dad, Cassandra," Tooth Fairy explained. "They'll let us know when he's on his way home."

She didn't know why or how they would to do that, but she honestly didn't care. All she wanted was to get out of there, and quickly, before she got any more emotional.

Things always went terribly wrong whenever she got emotional. Just like that incident with Toby Allensworth and the chicken noodle soup that got her sent to Burgess in the first place.

Giving into the need to cross her own arms, Cassandra repeated, "Send me home. I want to go home. You can't keep me here, it's kidnapping."

"You haven't been kidnapped, Cassandra," Mr. Bennett explained quickly. "We're just trying to figure out what's going on."

"Well I don't have a damn clue what you people are talking about. So can I go now?"

"As Bunny said," the fat man (Santa Clause, apparently) said in a deep rumbling voice, "cannot be coincidence. Must be reason you have teeth _and_ scent is in tunnels."

"I've already told you," she growled through clenched teeth. "Insisting that I'm involved isn't going to make it true!"

"At least tell us when you stopped believing in spirits," Jack Frost offered. "Even if what you said about the rest of it is true, it's still weird that you can see us even though you don't believe."

Well, there was no reason not to share that much, she supposed.

"I've never believed," she replied bluntly. "Things like Easter Bunnies and Santa Clause are just plain stupid."

"Hey!" Jack Frost said, looking a bit indignant while the others either appeared shocked or angry. "There's no need for that."

"You asked, so I told you. I'm not a liar, despite accusations to the contrary." She glared pointedly at the rabbit spirit, who stared right back at her, completely unrepentant.

"So troubling," Santa Clause murmured, stroking his long beard. "Makes no sense at all!"

"What do we do, North?" Tooth Fairy asked him. ( _So his name's North, huh? How unoriginal._ )"There's really no way to prove that what she's saying isn't true."

"Sure there is," the rabbit said at the exact same moment the little yellow dream weaver, who'd remained silent and contemplative up to that point, began nodding his head fervently. The latter pointed to a space directly above his head, in which there appeared a sand image of teeth.

"Oh, yes!" the fairy cried. "I completely forgot!" She laughed awkwardly as her little fairies all twittered and shook their heads at her, one rolling its eyes dramatically. To the tiny assistants, she asked, "Could you go and get them for me, please?" When one chittered under its breath, she sighed, "Yes, I know I just sent them off, but that was before I knew we'd need them."

"Wait a minute," Cassandra said, putting a stop to things before the little fairies could fly off. "What is going on?"

"Don't worry," Tooth Fairy told her with a broad smile. "I can prove you're not lying, it'll only take a minute."

" _If_ she ain't lying," the rabbit grumbled.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra insisted, demanding a complete answer.

Mr. Bennett explained. "Tooth has the ability to read memories from teeth she's collected. With yours, she'll be able to tell for certain what's going on."

Cassandra's stomach knotted painfully tight when she heard that. Memories? That fairy could read _memories_ from _teeth_?! Suddenly the urges she'd experienced as a child to hoard and protect things didn't seem so bizarre.

No, wait, she couldn't think about that right now! This was bad! The _worst_ possible thing that could happen! If the fairy looked into her memories, she'd discover far more than the simple fact that their assumption about Cassandra being the pawn of another spirit was wrong. She'd learn about her magic and her visit with those twin boys and her peculiar relationship with Pitch Black, their enemy.

Oh shit.

Ever the observant one, the rabbit spirit picked up on her subtle change of expression at the mention of memory magic.

"Something you wanna confess?" he growled, causing the other spirits, including the retreating fairies, to focus their attention on Cassandra.

"No," she replied as stiffly as she could. In spite of her efforts, there was the faintest catch in her tone, as if her throat had suddenly gone dry. Because it had. The others heard it too, including Mr. Bennett, and just like that the atmosphere in the room had shifted. Now the spirits were all regarding her with a mixture of wariness and confusion, and Mr. Bennett, for some reason, looked deeply disappointed.

"Cassandra," he said quietly. "Tell the truth."

"I did."

"No you didn't. Not the entire truth, and that's called lying by omission. You know what's going on, don't you?"

Cassandra stood there with her arms folded firmly across her chest. On the outside she appeared resolute, but deep inside the pit of her stomach, a horrible churning had begun. This was precisely what she'd been trying to avoid. All her life she'd been treated like a weirdo, a freak, like someone who just didn't fit in or belong, and that was _without_ anyone knowing about her magic. She'd thought, perhaps naively, that getting sucked into the world of spirits would be a good thing, that it would help her finally understand who and what she was. Unfortunately, things never really worked out in her favor, and her little foray into the spirit world wasn't proving any different. Here she was, revealing more of herself to these people than she ever had to anyone else, except Pitch Black, and all she was getting in return were interrogations and intense, unrelenting looks of condemnation.

 _And Pitch Black's supposed to be the evil one?_

As the silence dragged on, the five spirits and one human standing against her seemed to realize she wasn't going to respond. Growing impatient, the rabbit spirit instructed, "Tooth, go get the teeth."

"No!"

"Then tell us what's going on!" he snarled callously. "Those are your only two choices!"

The dream weaver laid a hand on his elbow, silently asking him to calm down, but the rabbit just shook him off.

"Please just tell us, Cassandra," Mr. Bennett pleaded. "It'll be so much easier for you if you do. I know how private you are."

Cassandra hugged herself even tighter. Though she didn't dare let it show, she was feeling quite sick.

"All right," she conceded softly. "All right. Just…just let me go to the bathroom first, okay?"

Suspicious, the rabbit spirit asked scathingly, "Why? So you can run off the second we turn our backs?"

Brown eyes flicked momentarily to green ones. "Just where the hell do you expect me to go?" She was too drained and stressed to even raise her voice in retaliation. "Even if I get out of here, you know where I live, so what would be the point?"

He couldn't find fault with that, so he just pursed his hairy lips and said nothing. After sharing a look with Mr. Bennett, Santa Clause—or rather, North—waved Cassandra forward with one massive hand.

"Come," he rumbled. "Phil will show you."

She didn't have any idea who Phil was, but followed the large man anyway. He led her through the room, past a positively massive version of Pitch's globe of believing children, and out into the corridor. Four bulky, extremely hairy monsters were waiting there, and North called one over. After giving it brief instructions in a language that sounded like pure gibberish, the Guardian turned to inform a staring Cassandra, "This is Phil. He is a yeti."

The creature (yeti?) grumbled something unintelligible and indicated that she should follow. She did so, though her expression had settled into a slight frown. Just where in the hell did Santa Clause find all these yetis? Didn't he use elves for everything? She didn't know an awful lot about Christmas, but she was fairly sure he was supposed to have elves.

The yeti—christened Phil, apparently—stopped by an open doorway and stood back to wave her inside. If she hadn't been so distracted by her own thoughts, Cassandra would've sighed at the ridiculous of it. The place was practically around the corner, why couldn't they have just given her directions? Did they think she was too stupid to find her way without getting lost? Or had they assumed, despite her logical explanation, that she'd try to run away if some big hulking beast didn't stalk her there and escort her back?

Well, thanks to Carol she was used to people standing outside the bathroom door.

Shutting herself inside, Cassandra all but collapsed against the sink. She clutched at the ceramic basin with hands that were suddenly shaking. She looked up into the mirror, and was shocked to see that her lips were drawn thin and her skin had become pale. Deep inside, she felt ashamed. She could've sworn she had more control than that. Emotions were a weakness, showing them gave others fuel with which to attack her. Up until tonight she'd faced every obstacle with patience and rationality that was wholly unusual in preteenagers, making only a few mistakes along the way, but now she was trembling like a pathetic little girl and seriously fighting the urge to vomit.

 _Dammit, pull yourself together!_

Drawing deep breaths, Cassandra pushed herself up and away from the sink. Eyeing her reflection with disgust and dismay, a slight bulge in her jacket reminded her of the cloak Pitch had given her. She hesitated for just a moment before drawing it out. Gravity pulled at the folds, causing the black material to drop loose and hang beautifully from her hands. It wouldn't hurt to put it on for just a little while, right? Just a few moments to calm down, to make her feel safe and secure again, then she would put it away and return to those stupid Guardians with a clear head.

With a quiet sigh, Cassandra swung the cloak around her shoulders and drew up the hood. Warm darkness immediately surrounded her, effortlessly pushed aside all the turbulent emotions to make room for a deep, relieving sense of calm. She stood there for long minutes, drinking in the peace and the quiet and the dark, her eyes closed and head tilted back slightly as she basked in the serenity provided by the cloak.

Completely ignorant of what was going on beyond the folds of her cloak, she didn't hear the knocking at the bathroom door.

* * *

Phil the yeti wasn't one to disobey. He'd been told to wait for the human girl and to return with her in a few minutes, and that was precisely what he intended to do. But a few minutes passed, then a few minutes more, and there was nary a peep from inside of that little room. Confused and a little concerned, he knocked, the softest rapping of hairy knuckles against the ornately carved hardwood door. When he received no response, he knocked a little louder, and asked in his native tongue if everything was all right.

Still no response. He pressed his ear to the door, but heard nothing. No running water, no creaking of floorboards…not even the sound of breathing. For a long moment, he hesitated in the corridor, torn between the desire to give the girl her privacy and his instinctive need to ensure that she was all right.

In the end, protective instinct won out. He gingerly took the door handle, and was shocked to discover that it gave way under his hand. It was unlocked? Why was it unlocked? Easing the door open just a tiny little crack, he put his mouth close to the slight opening and asked again if she was all right. His worry reached all new heights when there was still no sound from inside the little bathroom. Phil pushed the door open a bit more, intending to check up on her properly, but had barely put his hand to the hardwood when he spotted the hem of a familiar black robe.

Pitch Black!

Rage and indignation flooded through him. North had warned all the yetis that some malevolent spirit had been using this poor human girl, and it was none other than the Nightmare King himself! Phil slammed his palm against the door, knocking it back with an ear-splitting crash, his need to protect the human child uppermost in his mind.

* * *

Cassandra was startled out of her peaceful reprieve by the sound of wood slamming hard against the wall. Ears positively ringing, she had just enough time to glance around before massive yeti fists forced her to sink swiftly into the shadows. Cornered in the tiny bathroom by an enraged Phil, such was her only escape. She slipped into the hall and quickly reemerged, hoping to explain what had happened before the Guardians' attention was attracted, but it was far too late. The yeti had shouted out in his strange tongue, catching the attention of virtually everyone within three floors of them, and Cassandra could hear the pounding of dozens of feet headed their way.

 _Oh, crap._

Just a few rooms away, the Guardians inevitably heard the ruckus. The fastest of the lot, the rabbit spirit got there first, skidding around the corner on all fours with Jack Frost hot on his heels.

"Pitch!" the accented creature shouted just as Frost brought his staff down in a mighty swing, hurling snow and ice towards her.

With no time to tell them to stop being stupid, she was far too short to possibly be the Nightmare King, Cassandra hastily dodged Frost's attack. No sooner had she regained her balance, she had to duck a heavy wooden boomerang that went whistling past her head. Damn. That one had been close. By that point she was surrounded by yetis, many of whom were armed. The other Guardians had arrived, too, the dream weaver bearing a yellow sand whip while Santa Clause and Tooth Fairy carried swords.

Trapped by what was quickly becoming an army of furious spirits, Cassandra summoned the wind and leapt for the rafters, soaring up over yeti heads and hands to land safely out of reach.

"What's your problem?!" she shouted, glaring down at her attackers.

They all froze simultaneously.

" _You_?" the rabbit spirit uttered stupidly, his ears twitching as if he was hoping he hadn't heard correctly.

"Who the hell else?!"

Yetis stared at each other, shrugging and garbling in confusion. Santa Clause and Jack Frost both spluttered nonsensically as they tried to wrap their tiny brains around what had just happened. The dream weaver, whose whip had disintegrated due to the immense shock of hearing _her_ voice emanating from the cloaked figure, stared up at her with the oddest expression on his pudgy face. He seemed perplexed, but also looked immensely stern, as if he suspected where this could potentially be going and didn't like the prospects one bit.

Strangely enough, the first one to take action was Tooth Fairy. Still armed with her dagger-like sword, the colorful spirit flew up to hover in front of Cassandra, her own expression a mixture of seriousness, confusion and worry. Very slowly, as if to not startle the girl perched upon the rafters, she reached out and took the cloak in her hand. She ran the material briefly between two fingers before snatching her hand back with a gasp.

"Where did you get that?" she asked. Although her voice was steady, Cassandra could tell that the fairy was afraid.

"What does it matter?" she replied snappishly. She knew she sounded petulant, but she honestly didn't care. After being kidnapped, interrogated and outright attacked, she was well beyond the point of caring about how these stupid Guardians saw her.

Tooth Fairy opened her mouth (probably to say that, yes, it _did_ matter), but the fat man's rumbling voice cut her off unintentionally.

"Come down, Tooth."

She obeyed at once, casting one final glance at Cassandra before flying down to rejoin the others. During her descent, Mr. Bennett appeared, having been lured out of hiding by the sudden quiet.

"Is everything all right?" he asked hesitantly then gasped when he spotted the girl up in the rafters. "Cassandra! How on earth did you get way up there?"

"Ankle biter flew," the rabbit spirit reported as North's yetis began to quietly disperse.

"Flew?"

"Yeah."

Mr. Bennett's brows pinched together in confusion. "But how? She's human!"

"That she is." The rabbit spirit still hadn't taken his eyes off her. Like Tooth Fairy, he still clutched his weapon in one furry paw. To Cassandra, he said, "I think you owe us an explanation now. No more excuses."

For once, the arrogant creature was right. No more excuses. There was absolutely nothing she could say or do to get herself out of this, not now that they'd _seen_ her perform magic. Cassandra supposed she ought to be angry about having her secret so forcibly exposed, or scared that they'd do something to her once they knew the full truth, but instead she felt nothing of the sort. In fact, now that her anger and indignation over being attacked had begun to fade, all she could feel was a strange sense of calm. Perhaps it was the cloak?

Yes. Yes that had to be it. The cloak was keeping her calm and rational, the shadows gently enveloping her body comforting her in spite of the turbulent situation. She would have to thank Pitch again the next time she saw him; his gift was proving to be truly invaluable.

Standing as tall as she could without bumping her head, she stepped down from the rafters. Aided by the wind, which gusted gently to cushion her fall, she landed lightly on the ground, facing the gathered Guardians and their human companion.

Jack Frost spoke first. "Wind listens to you?" he gasped.

Sparing only a passing thought for why he spoke of the wind as if it were a sentient being, Cassandra made a subtle motion with her hand that sent a few snowflakes drifting lazily towards the Guardians. Six pairs of eyes watched in a mixture of shock and awe as the little white crystals floated to the floor and melted, four pinprick puddles the only lingering evidence of their existence.

Once they were gone, the rabbit's head shot up. "You made the tunnels too, didn't you?"

Instead of answering him, Cassandra stuck out a foot and rapped her heel sharply against the ground. The floor and earth beneath obediently opened up, revealing a small, perfectly symmetrical tunnel which closed again soon afterward.

But not before realization struck the Tooth Fairy. "The teeth!" she cried. "You _did_ take the teeth!"

"Sorry," she muttered monotonously, not meaning it in the slightest but figuring an apology was what the florescent fairy probably expected. "I couldn't help it."

"What about Sandy?" the rabbit asked, gesturing at the dream weaver.

Cassandra lifted her hand again and sent a yellow sand falcon screeching towards the ceiling. The Guardians watched it, open-mouthed, until it vanished into nothing.

"But…you're human!" Mr. Bennett gasped again. He turned wild eyes onto the spirits gathered around him. "How is this possible?"

"What else?" North asked. "What other magic?"

His tone brooked no argument. Perhaps it was the cloak, perhaps it was something Phil had said in his unintelligible yeti language, but the fat man suspected something. As such, Cassandra hesitated for just a moment before obliging. With ease she slipped into the shadows, eliciting a startled gasp from the onlookers. Six pairs of distinctly colored eyes watched her disembodied form glide across the walls before she reemerged, fully-formed, in the exact place she'd left a moment before.

As soon as she reappeared, the dream weaver boldly approached. He hovered in front of her for a few moments, staring intently, before reaching out and swiftly pushing back the hood of her cloak. Cassandra let him do as he wanted, frowning a little to show her displeasure but otherwise making no move to try and stop him. Holding her gaze, the dream weaver reached out with one small yellow hand and sprinkled her head with sand. Nothing happened. The granules fell uselessly across her hair and shoulders, gleaming starkly in contrast to the black she wore. The dream weaver drew back a little, startled, and though she didn't show it even Cassandra was rather surprised.

 _Pitch Black can enter my head using nightmare sand, so why doesn't the dream sand work?_

Turning a little so that he could see his compatriots, a series of symbols, shaped from his dream sand, flashed in and out of sight over the dream weaver's head. Before she could wonder what he was doing, the rabbit spirit spoke.

"You mean your magic don't work on her?"

The yellow man shook his head. Cassandra realized then that the dream weaver was likely mute (or, perhaps, simply wasn't one to talk) and used the symbols to communicate.

Interesting.

"Hey, that's weird," Jack Frost commented. "My snowflakes didn't work on her either. Remember?"

The last part was directed at Mr. Bennett, who nodded in affirmation.

"So she's got magic but magic don't work on her?" Easter Bunny raked a paw over his ears, looking incredibly frustrated by his present state of confusion. "And she's human! Just what the bloody hell does that mean? North?"

Santa Clause shook his head slowly. "Don't know. Sandy?"

The yellow man turned his head to look back at Cassandra, his expression grim. He shook his head very slowly, confirming that he didn't know either. She felt her heart sink. So the Guardians didn't know anything about it, either? But if they didn't know, and Pitch Black didn't know, then who else could she possibly ask? She had their powers for crying out loud! Shouldn't they at least have an idea? _Any_ idea?

She didn't dare let the disappointment show on her face. They couldn't know that she was just as much in the dark about this as they were. Instead she focused on the dream weaver, whose eyes had settled upon her cloak. Something akin to disgust flashed briefly across his pudgy face before a more neutral appearance resettled. Like Tooth Fairy before him, Sandy reached out very slowly and touched the material of her cloak. Unlike the fairy, he held onto it for a long while, stroking the material between his fingers, and Cassandra had the distinct impression that he was deep in thought.

After a moment of awkward silence, and without releasing her cloak, Sandy looked up at her and shaped a sand figure over his head. She recognized the depiction at once, even if it was tiny and yellow and only showed him from the shoulders up.

Pitch Black.

She did not move or speak, and kept her expression carefully blank. But her lack of reaction seemed to betray her, for when the dream weaver released her cloak to return to the others, whatever he told them with his sand symbols set them all off again.

"What?" the Easter Bunny practically shouted. "With _Pitch_?!"

"You've met the Boogeyman?!" Mr. Bennett exclaimed at almost the exact same time. Cassandra didn't understand why he looked so horrified at the prospect. "When?! When did you meet him?!"

"It doesn't matter," she said softly, speaking for the first time in minutes.

"It does when it's Pitch!" Jack Frost informed her, taking a half-step forward. "Is he part of this? Are you two planning something?"

She laughed, but it was an incredibly short, empty sound. "He doesn't know anything more about my magic than you do. He only spoke to me because he was curious."

"Curious, yeah," the rabbit spirit scoffed. "Curious to see how he can use you against us!"

"Please, I've got better things to do with my time," Cassandra muttered, but nobody seemed to hear her as Mr. Bennett was still talking. Did he ever shut up?

"But you told me you didn't believe in spirits," he was saying. "Why would you say that if you'd already met Pitch?"

"I said I didn't believe in Santa Clause," Cassandra reminded him. North looked a bit hurt to hear that. "And I'd only spoken to him for a few minutes at that point, so it's not like I lied. I'm not a liar."

This time nobody countered her declaration, but she knew it was only because they weren't listening.

"I think we ought to take it," Tooth Fairy told the others. "Anything of Pitch's shouldn't be left lying around, especially since she's a child. Who knows what might happen."

"I dunno, how dangerous can a cloak be?" Jack Frost pointed out. "I mean, she's obviously got Pitch's powers too, so it's not like it can hurt her, right?"

Cassandra bristled. "You're not taking it," she snapped. "It's mine!"

"Would be best for everyone," North informed her gently.

"Please, Cassandra," Mr. Bennett said. "They've got your best interest at heart, honest."

It was her turn to say "Please," only her tone was incredibly sarcastic. She reminded the teacher, "All your precious Guardians have done to me is jump me in an alley, break into my home, kidnap me, accuse me of being a trespasser, a thief _and_ a liar, and then outright attack me because they were too stupid to realize I'm far too short to be Pitch Black."

By the end of her speech, Mr. Bennett looked a little sheepish while most of his Guardian friends looked guilty, shuffling their feet and scratching at their heads awkwardly. Only the rabbit spirit, whom Cassandra was coming to detest more by the minute, asked suspiciously, "What, and Pitch Black's been _good_ to you?"

"Oh, believe me, Pitch Black is creepy and weird and I wouldn't trust him more than I could throw him." The six of them appeared relieved to hear that, but she pressed on relentlessly. "But I trust him far more than I trust any of you. At least he's never attacked me."

The rabbit sneered, "Yeah, I bet you're just the best of friends. Betcha he gave you that cloak as a gift, too."

Cassandra scowled. The rabbit spirit's expression faltered as he said, "Wait…don't tell me he _gifted_ you that cloak."

Mr. Bennett glanced at the Guardians, and was steeped in confusion when he saw that they were all staring at Cassandra with looks ranging from surprise to horror.

"He just gave it to you, right?" Tooth Fairy said. Cassandra wondered why she sounded a little desperate. "Because he took interest in your power and thought you could use it…right?"

"Found it?" fat man North suggested hopefully.

"Or maybe you stole it?" Jack Frost offered.

"It doesn't matter," Cassandra told them firmly. Why were they all so interested in her cloak? Did it really matter if he gifted it to her versus just _giving_ it to her? Was there even a difference between the two?

"Does it really matter that much?" Mr. Bennett asked quietly, noting his friends' expressions.

"Yeah, it does," the rabbit spirit replied grimly. To Cassandra he reiterated, "Did he give it to you, kid, or did he gift it?"

"It. Doesn't. Matter." She annunciated every word through clenched teeth.

The next question came from Sandy. A picture of a birthday cake appeared over his head, a question mark beside it, and while she didn't get the reference at first, the other Guardians reacted instantly. The fairy gasped and the rabbit spirit's head snapped up.

"When's your birthday?"

There was real concern in his voice now, which was a little surprising considering how aggressive he'd been thus far. Honestly, what did her birthday have to do with anything? She didn't know, but decided to tell them anyway as she saw no reason not to.

That and she was growing incredibly sick of this pointless conversation, and just wanted it to end so she could go home and get some sleep.

"March twenty-eighth."

Jack Frost, North and Tooth Fairy all looked relieved, but Sandy and the Easter Bunny didn't.

"What did he say to you?" the rabbit spirit demanded to know. "What _exactly_ did he say when he gave that thing to you?"

"He said to think of it as an early birthday gift if I wanted," she reported wearily.

"And did you?"

"I suppose."

Shocked expressions returned in full force, and the rabbit asked her, "And what, _exactly_ , did you say to him?"

"I asked him if there was a catch, and he said no, that it was just a gift."

" _And_?"

Why was he being so insistent about this? It really wasn't that big of a deal, it was just a cloak! "And I said thank you," she said on a heavy sigh. "Is that so bad?"

"So you accepted it?"

"Did you _say_ you accepted?" North clarified, patting his belly peculiarly, almost as if he had some sort of stomachache.

"I don't know," Cassandra huffed. "I don't remember."

"Remember," he said firmly, bright blue eyes positively boring into her brown ones. "Is very important!"

Cassandra thought hard. It had only happened a few hours ago, but after everything that had taken place since then, it was incredibly hard for her to remember precisely what had been said during her brief visit to Pitch's home.

"Yes," she said at last. "He asked if I accepted, and I said I did."

She was about to add 'And I don't see why the hell not', but was startled into silence by their reactions. North actually turned away from her, putting one massive hand to his forehead as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. The fairy's hands flew to her mouth, while the little ones hovering over her shoulder huddled close and twittered sadly. Jack Frost looked nauseated for some reason, and the dream weaver shook his head, angered and incredibly distressed by the news.

"Aw, kid," the rabbit spirit said quietly. He, too, was shaking his head at her, and if she hadn't known better Cassandra would've said that the Easter Bunny looked pained. "You stupid, stupid girl."


	6. Twisted Tradition

Author's Note:

OMG! This story got added to a community! *wildly running back and forth in glee* Thank you SO MUCH! You honestly have no idea how happy this makes me! *bows over and over* I love you guys all so much, all the views and reviews and faves and follows...they completely make my life! They give my writing meaning beyond simple personal value, because it means other people like it and are take interest in it. I've never been more grateful for the recognition, so thank you so very, very much everyone!

 **GMWW:** Glad you liked it, and I do love my cliffhangers. ;)

 **Adby1:** Yes, unfortunately, it was a pretty dumb mistake. And even if you had one I'm not sure if it would work because you don't have Pitch's shadow powers (darn it).

 **Marvel-comic-girl:** Is a week a soon enough update? ;) (I know for me it's not; whenever I find a story I really like that's not finished, I obsessively check for updates, like at least once a day haha).

 **WinterCrystal1009:** While I was writing that part of the chapter, I did have a bit of an internal conflict about how believable it would be to have them act that way. But you hit the nail on the head with the Easter fiasco, because that's largely what I drew upon. The Guardians are great and all, but they're far from perfect, especially Bunny, who is highly opinionated (duh) and can be a bit pig-headed sometimes. So that's why they acted that way, and why Bunny wouldn't shut up. He was even starting to annoy me, and I was writing the darn chapter haha. And Jack didn't talk much for two reasons. At first it was because he was letting Tooth and Bunny deal with the fact that Cassandra was messing with their work (the tunnels and teeth), as it was their "territory", and then after they found out she had all their powers he was letting the others do the talking because he's the youngest and newest Guardian and therefore doesn't have as much experience or authority in matters like that. But don't worry, he talks a lot more in this chapter. :)

 **Momochan77:** Yes, cliffhanger mwahaha. And don't worry, you get to know what it means in this chapter. *grin*

 **Silversun XD:** I can't answer that, that's spoiler territory! *wags finger* Just read on and you'll see.

Please enjoy this chapter, everyone, and continue to review if you can because I love to see what my wonderful readers have to say. :D

* * *

After that rather tactless declaration from Bunny, the Guardians were all-too-quick to send Cassandra Fisher home. Jamie frowned as he watched his friends practically force the poor girl through a snow globe portal, shooing her away with hasty promises that they'd explain later. She put up a bit of a fight, sharp tongued and fearless, but the teacher could see she was far too exhausted to argue as much as she otherwise would've. There were dark circles forming under her eyes, and she practically drooped in spite of her best efforts to conceal her fatigue. He glanced at his wristwatch and startled when he saw it was nearly four in the morning. She had to be absolutely exhausted!

In the end, she left without much fuss, though she took a moment to cast one final glare over her shoulder. As soon as the portal closed up behind her, Jack let out a loud groan.

"Aw, man, we're in so much trouble."

"How were we supposed to know?!" Bunnymund asked loudly. In spite of the bluster, it was clear the Guardian of Hope was extremely worried. Long ears pulled tight against his head as he cried, "It only _just_ happened. We can't get blamed for not knowing about it, right?!"

"Come on, Bunny, you know Pitch!" Jack retorted. "He's gonna milk this for everything it's got!"

"What do you mean?" Jamie asked, his concern growing exponentially by the second. "What's going on? What's happened?"

Unfortunately, his friends were too flustered and upset to pay him any mind. As one they started moving towards the globe room, leaving Jamie to trail after them. His human ears struggled to pick out individual voices from the overlapping conversations.

"If anyone's at fault it's Phil," Bunny was saying, casting a dark look at North. The big man was too busy talking to Sandy to hear a word the Pooka said. "He's the one who started yelling about Pitch!"

"Oh, don't be petulant, Bunny," Tooth snapped. "We _all_ had a hand in this! Cassandra was right—we should've known it wasn't him."

"I'm not saying I _want_ him to get into trouble," Bunnymund explained hastily. Huddled under the globe, he assured the others, "I don't want anybody in trouble! I just meant there might be a chance to get outta this lightly if we explain what happened."

"If you start pointing fingers, Pitch is just going to hone right in on you," the fairy countered.

"Me?!"

Jamie could barely hear them as North's voice rose significantly. Glancing over at them, he noticed the Russian's blue eyes were wide and wild as his and Sandy's debate became ever more passionate. Reluctant to eavesdrop on whatever was going on between the two oldest Guardians, Jamie moved closer to the others so he could better hear Tooth.

"You were the one who tracked her down because she was using those tunnels," she was saying to Bunnymund.

"I just wanted an explanation for what happened! Is that so terrible?! I had no idea it was gonna turn out like this!"

"None of us did, but we can't very well use that as an excuse and you know it."

"What's going on?" Jamie reiterated, and stifled a sigh when he was again ignored. He was starting to understand how Cassandra felt earlier when they were all talking over and around her.

Whatever was going on right now, it was obviously tremendously serious.

"No matter how we spin this, it's gonna look really, really bad," Jack stated bluntly. His expression was calm, but his emotions were betrayed by his hands. He clutched his staff so tight, Jamie was sure he'd accidentally snap the weapon in two. "It's grounds for kidnapping, and you know how Issitoq feels about that."

"Plus we attacked her," Tooth added. She wrung her hands, a bad habit of hers whenever she grew anxious. "Forget Pitch, _Manny's_ going to be so disappointed!"

As one, all five Guardians (including Sandy and North, though Jamie didn't have a clue how they heard her over the Russian's domineering vocal cords) turned their heads to stare up through the hole in the ceiling. Unfortunately, the sky was moonless, likely due to the late—or, rather, extremely early—hour. A long, tense moment of uncomfortable silence settled over the room, each individual lost in their own private thoughts.

"Manny will understand," North eventually concluded, his rumbling voice easily drawing everyone's attention. "Was misunderstanding, yes? And child was unhurt, so no harm done." His reassuring smile faded, replaced by a frown. "Pitch will not be so forgiving."

Seizing the opportunity to speak, Jamie asked again, "What's going on guys? What is Pitch going to be upset about?"

He was both relieved and worried when they finally looked at him, for their eyes reflected a wide range of emotions. Jack seemed both angry and disgusted, while the others looked either worried or upset.

"You see, Jamie," the frost spirit explained. "There's this…thing…about spirits giving gifts."

The human's eyebrows drew together, his confusion apparent. "You guys give gifts all the time."

"We call them gifts so the children can understand," the Pooka explained, shuffling his large feet restlessly, "but really it's more of an exchange. They believe in us, which gives us strength and existence, and in Tooth's case they leave teeth, so what we offer them in return is simply a trade."

"Like thank you," North said quietly.

"Oh." A thought occurred to him then, one that made his previously drawn brows lift suddenly. When he was still a kid, Jack and occasionally a few of the other Guardians would sometimes come down to Burgess and celebrate his birthday with him and his friends. Their presence alone had been enough to please him, so he hadn't thought much about it at the time, but as he reflected upon it now he couldn't recall any of them ever bringing along a present. He inquired of them, "Is that why you guys never gave me or Sophie or anybody birthday presents, because it wasn't a trade?"

Several of them, including Jack, winced at the mention of birthday presents, but they all nodded anyway, confirming his belief.

"Partially," Jack told him, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Birthdays aren't the same for spirits as they are for humans," Tooth explained. "You see…" She paused suddenly. After drawing a long breath, and letting it out again, she began again, choosing her words very carefully. "Jamie, gift-giving in general is rather…frowned upon, among spirits. It doesn't happen nearly as often as you might think."

"But you guys give each other stuff all the time," he said, remembering all the times Bunnymund had given the other Guardians eggs at Easter and North had offered candy and fruitcake and small trinkets, no matter the occasion.

"Giving and gifting are very different with us," Jack said. "Giving things, especially among spirits you know, isn't so bad. It's like saying 'Here, I know you'd like this', or 'You can use this, so give it a go'. You get funny looks if you try to give stuff to spirits you don't know that well, but as long as you make it clear it's not a gift they're usually okay with it."

"Okay…" Jamie said slowly, struggling to understand.

"Gifts are different," Tooth went on. "Gifts have…connotations."

He did not like the sound of that. "What sort of connotations?"

Very, very softly, North told him, "Means they have feelings, Jamie."

The human's eyes grew positively enormous. "WHAT?!"

"Yeah," Jack said, looking positively revolted. "And birthday gifts are worse."

"Please don't tell me," Jamie muttered. If a spirit giving a gift was a sign of infatuation, he couldn't even begin to fathom what a birthday gift meant.

In spite of his half-hearted plea, the Guardians enlightened him anyway.

"For humans," Tooth told him, "a birthday is a marking of time and accomplishments in a limited lifetime, a reminder that they should be thankful to have been born and to still be alive."

"I take it it's not the same for you guys."

"Spirit's aren't exactly born the same way as humans," Jack gently pointed out, and Jamie immediately wanted to slap himself. Before he could apologize for being so tactless, Tooth pressed on.

"For dark spirits like Pitch, or even for some benign ones, like Jack, most don't exactly like to dwell on how they came to be. For them, their 'birthday' is not a time to celebrate, but a period to mourn what once was and what can never be again. That's why it's sort of a tricky thing to deal with."

"And why you never give birthday gifts," Jamie concluded. He was rather surprised when Jack chuckled and Bunny growled.

"Oh I wouldn't say _never,_ " the Pooka grumbled, spearing the frost spirit with a positively scathing look.

"Come on, Bunny, it was funny."

"Was not!"

In spite of the heavy atmosphere, the other Guardians joined Jack in a round of quiet laughter.

"It was, Bunny," North said with a twinkle in his eye.

"No it wasn't! How in the hell is a great big bag of _alfalfa_ funny?!"

Jamie burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. The image of the proud, aloof Bunnymund handling a bag of pet store rabbit food was just too good. Doubled over, he barely heard the Pooka insist, "It ain't funny!"

Wiping tears from his eyes, the human managed to gasp, "Why in the world would you give him that, Jack?"

The frost spirit grinned. "It was an important milestone. I had to get him something good."

"Oh rack off!" Bunny retorted angrily.

Finally calming down, the seriousness of the situation returned and Jamie questioned, "So how come that was okay but this thing with Cassandra isn't?"

"Well, it's the nature of the gift," Tooth told him. "Like I said, both gift-giving and birthdays are complex facets of the spirit world."

Sandy said something with his symbols that poor Jamie Bennett just couldn't figure out. North had to translate for him.

"Humans do same thing, yes? Sometimes give close friend gift too…ehhh…inappropriate for others, as jest."

Jamie thought about it for a brief moment before nodding. Yes, he supposed that was true. Gag gifts were pretty common in the human world, particularly among close friends and family, but even the most boisterous of souls understood the unspoken rule about there being a time and a place for such things. Given the wrong circumstances, a seemingly harmless present offered in the name of good fun could transform into something deeply inappropriate, perhaps even downright insulting. Considering how meaningful gifts—and birthday gifts in particular—seemed to be in the spirit world, he could easily envision how a bag of alfalfa presented to virtually any spirit other than Bunnymund would be viewed as highly offensive, even if the giver was Jack, a known mischief-maker.

North was still translating for Sandy. "Birthdays are very serious matter, as Tooth said, so can be very, very insulting to get pretend gift. Only Jack, I think, and a few others will use them to make fun, and they are always careful."

"So what exactly do birthday gifts mean for you guys?"

Sandy shaped a picture of two hands clasped firmly. North gestured to it as he said, "It's like promise."

Jamie's eyes went wide as the pieces started to fit together inside his brain. "Wait. Wait, you don't mean…!"

"Yeah," Jack said with a mixture of solemnness and disgust. The expression on his face confirmed the human's suspicions just as much as his verbal acknowledgement did.

"What—? You mean—? You mean that was—?" Jamie spluttered before his face twisted into a grimace. "Aw, gross."

"I don't think Pitch meant it exactly like that, though," the frost spirit hastily assured him.

Tooth nodded grimly. "It was just a means to an end."

"Yeah? And how's that?" Jamie asked weakly. He simply couldn't fathom how the Nightmare King could twist what was essentially an engagement to an eleven-year-old to his own advantage, and he had a pretty creative imagination.

The fairy's next words positively dripped with contempt. "Pitch knew that it was only a matter of time before we learned about her powers. It's possible she even told him about Bunny's little rendezvous with her in the alley the other night." Bunnymund looked a bit sheepish, shuffling his feet but making no move to interrupt. "Basically, Jamie, by tricking Cassandra into accepting his gift, he's ensured that we can't keep her from him, even if it's for her own safety."

"Buying him time to figure out what to do with her," Jack concluded with a glower.

"But why?" Jamie asked of Tooth. "You guys are the Guardians. Protecting children is what you do!"

"It don't matter," Bunnymund said gruffly. He was still looking down at his large feet; apparently he felt more responsible for the mess they were in than he otherwise let on. "The ankle biter is now officially under Pitch's protection, and he under hers. Our opinions as Guardians no longer mean anything when it comes to the two of them." His lip curled into a silent snarl. "He's cut off our hands by doing this. Everything we do and say from now on is gonna be put under the microscope! If we so much as look at either of them cross-eyed, Pitch is gonna use that as an excuse to file grievance against us."

"Which is bad," the frost spirit noted unnecessarily.

"How bad?" Jamie questioned. Considering how serious (and completely bizarre) the situation was, he wanted to have as many details as possible so as to avoid any more unsavory surprises.

Jack's lips drew thin. "Extremely."

Tooth's little assistant fairies twittered sadly as she explained. "Grievances are filed in the form of a petition presented to Issitoq, the Adjudicating Eye, the spirit of justice and law. Depending upon the nature of the offense, and whether or not the claim actually has merit, Issitoq either passes judgment immediately or summons the wrongdoers to stand before him, thus giving them the chance to defend themselves."

"So you guys are actually going to get into trouble?" Jamie said breathlessly. "Like _legal_ trouble? But you didn't do anything wrong! How could you have possibly known?" He didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to panic. He didn't want his friends to get into trouble, especially when they had only made a mistake.

A really, _really_ dumb mistake, confusing a cloaked Cassandra for Pitch Black, but still…

"You were just trying to figure out what was going on," he finished miserably.

Tooth flew over to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We know that, and when Pitch inevitably finds out what happened he'll most certainly know it too, but that won't stop him from filing grievances anyway."

"Because he wants revenge against you?" he guessed. He could certainly imagine the Nightmare King being that petty.

"That and he needs us off his back for a while," Jack told him.

"He's buying time to learn more about her magic," North rumbled, shaking his head. "Once he knows full truth, he'll use her any way he can."

"So what can we do?" Jamie's brain immediately began to race, rapidly considering all their options. "Can't we file our own grievance or something against Pitch? There's no way anyone would actually believe Cassandra willingly brokered this…arrangement with him."

"Unfortunately for us, and her, it doesn't matter," Bunnymund informed him. "Whether she was tricked into it or not, whether she was aware of what was happening or not, the promise is binding."

"He made clear offer, she spoke clear acceptance," North explained. "It's very hard to break promise now."

"But not impossible?" the teacher said hopefully.

The hope was quickly dashed when Bunnymund chuckled glumly. "With things like this, either the one who presented the gift has to take it back or they both have to agree to dissolution, otherwise the obligation still stands."

His shoulders slumped. "Oh."

"But there _is_ something we can do," North said, a determined gleam in his eye.

"Yeah," Jack agreed heartily.

Jamie perked up a little at the sound of their growing enthusiasm. "What's that?"

"Work fast," Tooth told him. "We've got to get to the bottom of this before Pitch does. If we figure out what's going on with Cassandra—why she has magic, why she can see spirits even without belief, why she has our powers and Pitch's—hopefully we can put together a plan to help her."

Sandy shaped some images over his head, including one of a giant eyeball. Jamie cocked his head at the sight of it, both immensely curious and a little disturbed by the imagery. North acted as translator again.

"With whole story, we may be able to file grievance, like Jamie said. If dark force is behind her magic, we can argue our duty as Guardians must come before Pitch's bond."

"And Issitoq will force him to take back the cloak so we can help her without interference," Tooth concluded with a satisfied smile.

Jamie nodded. Yes, that was a good plan. It killed two birds with one stone, in a sense, but that was _if_ they could prove Cassandra's power stemmed from some ill-intentioned force. If they couldn't, then his friends would be facing a very long, frustrating battle of wits and will against the Nightmare King.

Unfortunately, nothing would spare them the repercussions of attacking the girl earlier that night.

Jamie spoke hesitantly, unsure as to how this particular question would go over with his friends. "Um…how much trouble are you guys going to get into…exactly?"

"Well…" Her smile faltering, Tooth shared an uneasy glance with North before answering. "I suppose that depends on how far Pitch pushes it."

The Russian's response came slowly, as if he wasn't entirely certain of the answer, either. "Bunny, Jack and I were ones who brought her here, but we all had part in keeping her at Pole, so…"

"And we all attacked her," Jack pointed out, his earlier enthusiasm fading as it was gradually replaced by guilt. "But I suppose if Issitoq wants to get picky, only me, Phil, and Bunny actually tried to hurt her."

"Oh, come on!" Bunnymund cried in exasperation. "You can't say that! Easter's in a couple of weeks, I don't have time to be dragging myself off to Ikiaq! I've got way too much to do!"

Sandy shaped a clock over his head with yellow dream sand.

"We will have to wait and see," North interpreted. "May be long time before Pitch hears from Cassandra what happened. When summons comes— _if_ summons comes—we will all go."

"We'll support each other," Tooth said with a reassuring pat on Bunnymund's shoulder. The Pooka didn't look convinced in the slightest.

"Thanks for making it sound like I'm the only one doomed," he grumbled.

"You did start it, getting all offended over your tunnels," Jack reminded him with a mutter.

The Guardian of Hope was so physically and emotionally drained, he couldn't even summon the energy to raise his voice at the frost spirit. "Go blow snow somewhere," he said wearily.

As the de facto leader of the Guardians, North took charge. "Must start tonight," he told the group. "Sandy and I will search library here at Pole, try to find record of human magic. Tomorrow night, when moon rises, we'll speak to Manny. See if he knows anything. Tooth, you may not like it, but please see child's memories. Might find something Cassandra does not know is important." Tooth gave a curt nod. "Bunny, Jack, search other libraries, maybe speak to some older spirits…they may know stories. But be careful. More spirits who know about child's magic, greater danger she'll face. Not many like Pitch, dark or light, and some are quite bold. Issitoq's anger will not stop them. I know it's almost Easter," he added sharply when the Pooka opened his mouth, "but try anyway. Will be best for everyone, and Jack can help with eggs also."

Bunnymund looked like he'd rather have no help at all than Jack's help, but when he caught sight of the frost spirit's encouraging grin, he relented on a sigh. "All right. But 'til Easter's over, my googies come first. I will _not_ allow a repeat of what happened last time Pitch interfered with my holiday!"

Nobody could disagree with that statement, so they all nodded in unspoken agreement.

"What can I do?" Jamie asked, determined to help in any way he could.

"Keep close eye on her," North instructed. "But be careful! Pitch may grow angry if he learns you're helping us. You still believe, but are human and grown up, so will be harder for him to stop you. He won't like that."

"Try to talk with her," Tooth suggested. "Help her understand that we're not the enemy."

"That might be hard, seeing as how her and Pitch are on such pleasant terms," Bunnymund said bitterly.

In spite of her compatriot's negativity, the fairy refused to back down. "Cassandra doesn't trust him, she said so herself. She even told us that she asked him if there was a catch before he convinced her to accept the cloak. She isn't stupid, she just made a terrible mistake."

"She _is_ only eleven," Jack noted. "They can be rather naive sometimes." He'd befriended more than enough preteenagers over the course of his spiritual lifetime to know.

"It was pure coincidence that he met her first," she continued, "and his opinions of us have clearly had some influence, but it doesn't seem to me like she's following him blindly. That means there is still hope we can get her to understand."

"Which will help keep Issitoq off our backs, bond or no bond," the frost spirit concluded.

"All right, all right," Bunnymund relented on a huff. "Crikey, don't go jumping down my throat."

"Let's get to work," North declared. He rubbed his big hands together, a determined set to his mouth. "Tell everyone as soon as you find something. And if summons comes—"

A picture of a hand tapping a wristwatch appeared over Sandy's head.

"— _when_ it comes," the Russian amended, "we Guardians all go to Issitoq together, no matter what. Yes?"

Solemn but cautiously hopeful, they all voiced agreement. Watching them with deep concern reflected in his expressive eyes, Jamie Bennett thought: _It's like they've already resigned themselves to accept punishment they do not deserve._

An immense wave of sadness washed over him.

 _Please don't let this go terribly wrong._

* * *

Heaving a long sigh, Cassandra removed the cloak from her shoulders and spent a few minutes meticulously folding it. The house was quiet, and had been since she'd arrived, but didn't remain so much longer. Just as she tucked the cloak into the bottom of her backpack, where she was sure no one would go looking for it, she heard the front door open. Her sensitive nose instantly picked up the harsh scent of liquor, and as Randy stumbled down the hall towards the master bedroom he hummed and muttered nonsensically to himself. A loud thump and precarious rattling of glass, followed immediately by childish chuckling, indicated he'd walked into the side table and nearly knocked a lamp over. She shook her head in disgust. The man was absolutely plastered.

Clearly his previous insistence that nothing occur to make him look like a neglectful father only applied to what his daughter did.

Within moments of stumbling into bed, the man was snoring loudly, oblivious to the entire world. Changing quickly into her pajamas, Cassandra lay down on the couch and pulled the poor excuse of a blanket up to her chin. She was totally exhausted—it had to be close to three or four in the morning—but she just couldn't sleep. Her mind was too full of what could have possibly set the Guardians off like that. Why did Pitch's giving her the cloak as a gift upset them so much? Did spirits not understand the concept of a birthday gift? It wasn't a bad thing…

Right?

She considered that, a slight frown playing across her face. She wasn't an ignorant child; she understood the way things carried different meanings across cultures. Something amusing or playful in one country might be taken as an insult in another, just as something innocent in one place could be viewed as highly inappropriate elsewhere. Even words held entirely different meanings depending on where one went. Cassandra remembered reading somewhere that in England, cookies were called biscuits and fries were called chips, which were all completely different foods in the United States. And over there, cider was an alcoholic beverage, so it could come as a shock to some English citizens when they came to visit the States and found apple cider on a restaurant's children's menu.

But no matter where in the world one grew up, a birthday gift was just that: a birthday gift. Something given to mark a person's successful passage into another year of life. No dark connotations whatsoever.

Then again…spirits weren't humans. Perhaps in their world—in their culture, so-to-speak—a birthday gift carried far more significance.

The frown became more pronounced as Cassandra tried to recall everything the Guardians had said. They'd asked her to repeat _exactly_ what Pitch had told her, so the wording must be important.

He'd told her it was just a gift, and to think of it as a birthday gift if that was what 'she preferred.'

"'And did you?'"

The rabbit spirit's words jumped back out at her, as did North's insistence that she remember precisely what she'd said when she'd accepted the gift.

So it wasn't just Pitch's words that had been important, but her own as well? Had her verbalization of her acceptance somehow made official whatever it was that had transpired without her knowledge?

She suddenly sat bolt upright, the blanket slipping down to her lap. Pitch had muttered something to himself, something about not being as preemptive as he'd thought, right before he'd offered the cloak to her. Did that mean he'd been planning on tricking her all along, and had only been waiting for the opportune moment? Had his so-called gift only been a means to an end?

 _And I was so flattered to receive a birthday gift I didn't even realize what was happening. I didn't even think twice about it possibly being a trick…_

Slumping back against the stinky pillow, Cassandra pressed her palms to her face to stifle a groan.

The rabbit spirit was right. She was really, really stupid.

Saturdays were usually the bright spot of Cassandra's week, but that particular day she woke up far too late for swim or even her lunch date with Barb. As she nibbled a piece of wheat toast, her dad's snoring assaulted her sensitive ears. Her face contorted with disgust and annoyance, and she decided to go see if the blonde next door would be willing to put up with her for a few hours.

If not, well…she'd just find something else to do.

Polishing off the last of her toast, she pulled the front door open only to come face-to-face with the very last person on the planet she wanted to see right now.

"Hi," Mr. Bennett said, his surprise at having the door suddenly wrenched open gradually dissipating. Lowering the arm he'd raised (presumably to knock), he asked, "Can we talk to you?"

Her gaze flickered between the teacher and his sister, who stood at the bottom of the twin steps with her hands stuffed into her coat pockets. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

She blinked. Mr. Bennett's voice had been gentle, but firm, which was rather unlike his customary light-hearted, childish demeanor. The expression on his face was incredibly serious, belying the gravity of what he'd come to discuss.

"Is this about what happened?"

"Yes."

Glancing at Coach Sophie again, she looked Mr. Bennett in the eye and asked, "She knows?"

"She still believes," he confirmed. "She's one of the few of us who still do."

Cassandra didn't know who he meant by 'us', but didn't dare ask; she was sure to get some long-winded story if she did. She didn't bother to ask why the coach was there either, as the answer was obvious. A male teacher approaching a preteen student at home, alone, would raise a whole host of awkward questions, none of which they'd be able to answer since nobody of importance would ever believe that they'd gotten together to discuss Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny and the Boogeyman. At least with female company he could avoid some of the peculiar stares.

As if on cue, the door on the other side of the duplex popped open and Barb appeared on the steps.

"Hey Cassandra, missed you this morning." Her tone was amicable, but her green eyes were narrowed with suspicion as they fixed upon Mr. Bennett.

"I overslept," the girl supplied offhandedly.

"I see."

"Hello," Mr. Bennett said, stepping towards the woman and extending his hand in greeting. "I'm Jamie Bennett, I teach at Cassandra's school." When Barb warily shook the offered appendage, he continued, "And this is my sister, Sophie. She's Cassandra's track coach."

Something indiscernible flashed across Barb's face. Holding firmly to Mr. Bennett's hand, she looked past him and caught Cassandra's gaze. "Is everything all right?" she asked, her growing concern evident.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assured the woman.

"Where's Randy?"

"Asleep."

Green eyes narrowed further still, and a bit of a disapproving scowl touched her mouth. She finally released Mr. Bennett's hand. To her neighbor's daughter, she asked, "Have you had lunch yet?"

"I just had some toast."

She snorted. Clearly that wasn't a good enough answer for her. "Come on, we'll go get a sandwich."

Mr. Bennett opened his mouth to say something, but the blonde swiftly lifted a hand to shut him up. In an incredibly stern voice, as if speaking to a child instead of a grown man, she informed him, "I'm not going to judge you, Jamie Bennett, but I'm not going to let you and your sister wander off with this girl while her dad's asleep, either. You three can have your private little discussion over lunch, and I'm going to sit where I can keep a close eye on you. Understood?"

Cassandra nearly smirked when she saw Mr. Bennett's Adam's apple bob as he gulped. Looking highly uncomfortable in the presence of the glowering, intimidating woman, he commented, "If that will make you feel more comfortable…"

"It will," she interrupted, reaching around the door to snag her purse. "And if you try anything fishy, you'll be lucky if the cops find you in one piece."

* * *

Sagging back in her chair, Cassandra felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. The tuna sandwich she'd just eaten, which had actually tasted pretty good, sat heavily in her gut.

"So that's how it is," Mr. Bennett said quietly. Staring into the girl's brown eyes, he said fervently, "Please understand, Cassandra, that this is an incredibly serious matter. The Guardians were only trying to help you, and they're facing an awful lot of backlash if Pitch makes a big deal out of this."

"They'd deserve it," she said childishly.

"Things got out of control, nobody's denying that. But they didn't mean any harm."

"They attacked me!"

"Phil mistook you for Pitch. It was a silly mistake, but you know how things go when people get upset; they say and do things that aren't entirely rational because their emotions get in the way of logic. The Guardians and their helpers are always a bit high-strung when it comes to the Boogeyman. You may not know this, but Pitch has a reputation for being violent. He's attacked children before, innocent children. During the Dark Ages he ruled with unbridled terror and fear, and not so long ago he attacked this very town in an attempt to destroy the Guardians and regain power."

Cassandra looked at him, studying the firm set of his mouth. "You say that like you know."

"I lived through it." He gestured at Coach Sophie. "Both of us did."

"I was really young then," Sophie told her, "but I remember the nightmares. I remember the fear. It was Easter weekend, we were supposed to be having a good time, but nobody was, Cassandra. We were all too scared."

"The Guardians were created during the Dark Ages to stop Pitch, and they've been working to keep him in check ever since. Without them, children all over the world would succumb to darkness and fear, leaving no room for hope or dreams or wonder." His eyes grew sad. "Can you imagine that, Cassandra?" he asked quietly. "Can you imagine a world where children live every single moment of their lives, whether awake or asleep, absolutely terrified of their own shadow?"

"Shadows aren't scary."

"Maybe not to you, but not everyone is like you. You're one of a kind, a true marvel in both worlds, and Pitch is going to use you in any way he possibly can. That's why he tricked you, you know. So he can use you. The moment you accepted his gift, he succeeded in preventing the Guardians from ever being able to help you, even if he puts your life in danger."

"He hasn't hurt me."

She didn't know why she'd felt compelled to say that. Probably because the moment those accusatory words left Mr. Bennett's lips, the image of Pitch's face—arrested by anger and indignation—as he furiously denied hurting children appeared vividly in her mind. Cassandra knew just as well as anyone that Pitch Black was a bit of a jerk, and was definitely mad that he'd deceived her after telling her point-blank that there was no catch to his gift, but even so she couldn't stand the way Mr. Bennett was sitting there accusing the spirit of darkness of things he hadn't even done. The Guardians had kidnapped and attacked her, but right now they were trying to manipulate her into thinking Pitch was the one in the wrong, as if their own errors didn't matter at all.

It was a true testament to their arrogance that they didn't recognize their own hypocrisy.

In response to her statement, Mr. Bennett assured her, "Not yet. But if there's one thing you need to understand and believe about Pitch Black, it's that he is purely and unconditionally self-serving. If he has to hurt you in order to benefit himself, he will do it without hesitation."

"He won't."

"How do you know? Because he told you?" He scoffed. "Your being in this situation right now is due purely to his proficiency at telling lies."

"He cannot hurt me because I am a child. He does not hurt children."

Coach Sophie's brows rose. Mr. Bennett eyed Cassandra quizzically. "You sound so certain."

"You said he attacked Burgess in order to destroy the Guardians, but the only thing either of you have said about it is that he scared people. Did he actually physically hurt anyone?" When he hesitated, she pushed the point further. "Have your spirit friends ever told you that he's hurt someone?"

"Hurt doesn't have to be physical," Coach Sophie pointed out in a gentle tone. "Hurt can be psychological, emotional, verbal…there are many ways of harming someone without actually touching them."

"Pitch will do whatever he has to in order to accomplish his goal," her brother affirmed. "He will even stoop to using and abusing a child, if that's what it takes. He's already begun to do that. He lured you to his home and tricked you into accepting the cloak. He lied right to your face about it, and you think he's better than the Guardians?" He shook his head. "You just don't know him like we do."

"Have you ever spoken to him?"

"What?"

"Have you ever spoken to him?" Cassandra repeated evenly. Her face was carefully blank, protecting the thoughts and emotions swirling around inside her head.

Mr. Bennett frowned deeply. "Yes, when I was a child. I told him I believed in him but that I wasn't afraid of him."

"So that's as far as your knowledge extends," she concluded. "You know that he is the spirit of fear, that you do not fear him, and whatever it is the Guardians tell you." She folded her arms. "I think I know more about him than you do."

He eyed her warily. "What do you mean?"

"Only that I can take care of myself." Draining the last of her soda in one big gulp, she informed the two adults, "I'm pissed that he lied to me, it's gross that he did this as a way to control me, but it's not like I'm in danger. I have my magic, and you said yourself that he's not going to actually follow through with this engagement thing so I don't have to worry about that. I don't need the Guardians to defend me; I can do that perfectly fine on my own."

"Don't be stupid Cassandra," Mr. Bennett said exasperatedly, and even Sophie looked shocked at the sudden sharpness in his tone. "Magic or no, you're just a child! A _human_ child! Pitch Black is an ancient, powerful, cunning being! If he's managed to trick you once, he can very well do it again, and next time you may not escape so unscathed. He can _kill_ you, Cassandra, but as a spirit he is immune from such a fate. That right there proves he has every advantage over you!"

"If he wants to kill me, that's none of your business. You're not my father or even my teacher. I can do what I want with my own life."

They were both stunned to hear that. Mr. Bennett's mouth hung open as he stared at her, speechless. His sister opened her own mouth to say something, but Cassandra guessed what it was and cut her off.

"I'm not suicidal," she said firmly. "And I don't have a death wish. I just don't think you or even your precious Guardians have any right to dictate what I can and cannot do."

Mr. Bennett's jaw snapped shut and he swallowed thickly. "We're going to do whatever we have to, to keep you safe," he informed her quietly, "even if you don't want us to. It's our responsibility."

From the hoarseness of his voice, it was apparent his throat had gone tight, making the simple act of speech incredibly difficult for him. It seemed he'd expected this conversation to go smoothly, for her to just roll over and do what they wanted, and was completely taken aback by the fact that it wasn't and she hadn't.

Cassandra sneered at him. "Don't flatter yourself. You wouldn't give a shit about me if your precious Guardians weren't going to get into trouble. You're only doing this to protect them and to make yourself feel better."

"That's not fair, Cassandra," Coach Sophie said upon catching sight of her brother's hurt expression.

"No, it's not. It's not fair that people keep trying to force me to do what they want when they want because it'll bolster their own egos. At least my parents don't try to fucking pretend that they care."

She stood abruptly. The legs of her chair screeched sharply against the tile floor, setting her ears ringing. Glaring down at the coach and her brother, Cassandra told them, "Leave me alone. I'll deal with Pitch on my own."

She swept out of the restaurant. Casting a final suspicious look at the lingering pair, Barb got up from her own table towards the back of the deli and followed after her.

* * *

Author's Note:

My first ever end note, gah. I actually hate end notes, but I wanted to make something quite clear just in case it wasn't obvious in the chapter:

THIS STORY IS **NOT** A ROMANCE. There's no pairings whatsoever! What Pitch did might equate to an engagement, but he's most definitely _not_ going to actually follow through with it because A, that's super gross as she's eleven, and B that would be waaay out of character for him. So yeah, not happening. It was just the easiest way for him to get the Guardians to back off. And don't worry, Cassandra gives him what-for for doing that to her regardless of his reasons...but that's for later. *evil grin*

Shout-out to **Silversun XD** for guessing both meanings to Pitch's gift. Now you know why I couldn't answer you at the start of the chapter. Lol.

Oh, and just FYI: Issitoq and Ikiaq are Inuit names. Issitoq, believe it or not, is the name of an Inuit god that's called the Great Eye, who's depicted a giant eye that flies around seeking out evil-doers. Yeah. So that's what I'm drawing upon, only I call him the Adjudicating Eye since I didn't want to straight out copy the folklore. Not only would that feel wrong, like I'm stealing someone's culture, but I'm not going to have a spirit that's a literal eye so I changed it up a bit. But you'll learn more about him later.

Thanks for reading, see you next chapter!


	7. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Author's Note:

Thanks for the views, reviews, favorites and follows, as always. :D I know I say this a lot, but you guys all give me motivation to keep on writing. I love and appreciate every single one of you, even the anonymous stalkers. ;)

 **Adby1:** Yeah, Cassandra knows how to hold her own, which is a bit unfortunate considering her age.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** I swear, are all my readers psychic or something? Lol. Silversun XD last chapter, and now you with this comment. ;) Yes, Jack in the movie has something of a self esteem issue, and that does come into play in this story so you'll have to watch that as it develops. I won't talk about the rest of your comment because I don't want to give away too much, and I feel like I will regardless of whether or not I'm confirming or denying. So I'll do the smart thing and keep my mouth shut.

 **Guest:** Glad you love it so much! I always like to hear it.

 **Silversun XD:** Everyone's got their own agendas in this story, there's no clear right and wrong, and that's how I like it. Nothing in real life is ever cut-and-dry, purely good or purely bad, so even the Guardians, who have good intentions, are coming across as overbearing and egotistical because they're imposing upon Cassandra, who clearly doesn't want (and really doesn't need) their help. And seriously, why does everyone like Barb so much? She's a secondary character for crying out loud haha. (It's okay, honestly, I love her too).

 **Momochan77:** Happy to hear from you, as always. Pitch definitely has a plan, and being a dark spirit there are very few boundaries he's unwilling to cross. Hopefully this chapter lives up to your expectations.

 **Guest:** I'm honored and pleased and embarrassed by your comment, thank you so very much for the praise. *hug* Here's to hoping you like the rest of the story just as much. (And yes, no pairings. The genres may tweak a bit but _not_ in that direction. I knew that one hundred percent from the beginning, because, as you said, that would just be super weird).

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** As I told Silversun XD, there's no clear right and wrong side here, and that's only going to become more and more evident as the story progresses. Events are going to push certain characters to their very limits, but (hopefully) they can grow from it and become better as a result. If not...well, I can't tell you that, that's why this is a mystery. *evil smirk*

Okay, there's an important **_warning_** I feel I have to include here. There's  potentially disturbing/upsetting content in this chapter. There's no details and no gore, so don't worry about that, but there _is_ mention of suicide, depression and mental illness. Anyone who's read my _Starfire_ fic knows that I take this sort of thing extremely seriously. I don't include subjects like this for pointless shock value, as that would be incredibly demeaning and downright insulting to anyone dealing with these issues in real life. So when I use them in my stories, I do so with a clear purpose in mind. In this fic, the discussion that takes place not only serves as important character development for one person in particular, but helps to shape what's coming later on in the story. The exact point may not be clear now, but that's why it's a mystery. Just know that there _is_ a point.

Please enjoy, and keep the reviews coming, I do love reading and responding to them. :)

* * *

The ride back to the duplex was completed in silence. Cassandra had been dreading the moment Barb opened her mouth and asked what her conversation with the Bennetts had been about, and was quite surprised when they made it home without the woman mentioning it once.

Maybe luck was on her side her for a change.

Parking the car in the shared driveway, Barb murmured, "Did your dad go drinking last night?"

Staring glumly out the window, she gave a curt nod. There was no reason to deny it, seeing as how the woman obviously suspected what had kept the man in bed past two p.m.

Nodding her own head, Barb opened the door and said, "Come on. He won't be up 'til tomorrow so you might as well stay with me."

Cassandra didn't argue, just climbed out of the car, pushed the door closed with a quiet bang, and followed the blonde inside. As soon as the front door opened, the sound of muffled yapping assaulted their ears. Barney must be locked in one of the bedrooms.

"You look terrible," Barb noted. She dropped her purse on the table and led the way to the living room. "Not enough sleep?"

The girl mumbled, "Something like that." She collapsed in an armchair with a weary sigh.

Studying her with eyes that seemed to see far too much, Barb asked gently, "Wanna talk about it?"

Cassandra replied without hesitation. "No."

Barney continued to bark incessantly, the sound of scratching claws as he scurried back and forth grating on Cassandra's sensitive ears. Frustrated by the events of the past few days, she didn't take well to the added annoyance. As such, she failed to catch one of her thoughts before it tumbled past her lips.

"Why do you keep him?"

"What?" Barb asked distractedly. Over the din, she yelled, "Barney shut it!"

The dog remained quiet for literally two and a half seconds before the yapping started right back up again.

Glowering, Cassandra reiterated, "Why do you keep him when he's so damn annoying?"

Barb laughed a little. "Well, it's kind of a long story."

An awkward silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of Barney's irksome barks. Cassandra sat stiffly in her armchair, wholly unused to feeling so uncomfortable in Barb's presence. Silences in the woman's company were usually calm and welcoming, a soothing reprieve from the constant barrage of nosy opinions and Carol's screeching voice. But this one was heavy with unspoken words, words that needed to be said yet felt far too private to be shared.

Eventually, the blonde woman spoke. "When did your dad get home last night?" When Cassandra refused to answer, she continued gently, "Your dad and I have been neighbors for years, Cassandra. I know he can pull off an all-nighter when he's got a mind to, even at his age."

The girl shifted in her seat. After a moment, she mumbled, "About four."

Barb let out a sharp breath. Glancing at her, Cassandra saw that same disapproving scowl from earlier, when she'd first learned that Randy was still in bed, only now it was distinctly more pronounced.

Deciding it was best to smooth things over lest the woman give her dad a hard time (which would make it even harder for her to deal with him), Cassandra hastily explained, "I don't care, honestly. It's not like I can't take care of myself."

Unfortunately, her words had the opposite effect. Instead of reassuring the woman that everything was fine, her explanation made Barb's frown deepen. "It's not an issue of whether or not you can, Cassandra. It's an issue of you being put in a position where you have to. You're only eleven, still just a child."

Those words, spoken with genuine concern, reminded Cassandra all-too-much of the conversation she'd had with Mr. Bennett. She folded her arms and muttered crossly, "So everyone keeps reminding me."

"Being young isn't a bad thing. That's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is that someone your age shouldn't have to be responsible for so much. It isn't fair to you." She laughed very quietly. "And I've got a feeling you're keeping an awful lot of things secret. That's why those teachers came here today, isn't it?"

She grew quiet again, and Cassandra was immensely grateful Barb was willing to let the matter drop.

Barney's barking grew weaker and more sporadic, until at long last, he gave up and shut his stupid mouth. When more than a minute passed without a single yip from the mongrel, Barb chuckled again. "Thank God for small favors."

Cassandra didn't say anything, and Barb didn't either for a time. They were too engrossed in their own private thoughts. Cassandra, for her part, was brooding over the situation she'd found herself in with the spirit world and how she ought to go about confronting Pitch Black. She supposed it was partly her own fault for believing his lies, but that didn't make her feel any less angry over what had happened.

 _I finally get a birthday present and it's got black strings attached,_ she thought miserably, though she was careful to keep anything but a scowl from appearing on her face. _I really can't win, can I?_

"He was my boyfriend's."

Cassandra blinked. She stared at Barb, but the woman was gazing off into the corner, her eyes slightly glazed as if she were lost in ruminations. "What?" she asked, not entirely sure she'd heard right.

"Barney," Barb clarified. "He was my ex's dog. His sister breeds Chihuahuas, and she gave him a puppy one year as a thank you for helping her family out with some house repairs. He hates lap dogs, but didn't feel right giving him away, either. Said it would be like slapping his sister in the face. So his care just sort of fell onto me."

"And when you broke up, he just dumped him onto you," Cassandra guessed.

Barb finally looked at her, and the girl was startled to see such deep sadness in the woman's green eyes.

"Omar and I were together for nearly eight years. I loved him deeply, and I know he loved me just as much, but in the end our affection wasn't enough to prevent what happened."

"He cheated?"

"No. To be completely honest with you, I almost wish he had."

Cassandra frowned. What could this 'Omar' have possibly done to make Barb—a woman who brooked little nonsense—actually wish he'd cheated?

Barb shifted, tucking her legs up onto the couch beside her. Her gaze drifted off again, focusing on a single spot somewhere on the carpet. "People say love is by far the strongest emotion you can feel; every time I hear that, I can't decide if I want to laugh or tell them to quit being stupid. Anger, fear, hate, pain, sadness…those can be much, much more powerful than love. If they weren't, you'd have far fewer breakups and divorces, I think."

Cassandra didn't know what to say to that, so she just kept quiet and let the woman talk.

"Things between Omar and I ended rather…abruptly. We were together for a long time, and I was under the impression our relationship was proceeding as well as it could. We argued on occasion, nothing serious, and as silly as it may sound I'd spent quite a bit of time picturing what we'd look like growing old together. I was happy. Very happy. And I thought Omar was too. Then…one night…he came home from work and told me he was done." Her voice grew thick, the emotional wounds still very raw. "Obviously I was shocked. I had no idea what could've happened for him to say that. I cried, I shouted, I screamed. I tried reasoning and pleading. Nothing worked. All he had to say was that he couldn't stand being with me anymore, that he hated living in that house with me and wouldn't put up with it a second longer. He packed up a single bag, that's all, and within fifteen minutes he was gone.

"Naturally I was devastated. I had no idea where any of it had come from. How could a man who supposedly hated me put up with me for so long? How could he have pretended to be happy instead of just telling me the truth? How could I have been so blind as to not notice his misery? It really cut me to think that someone I loved and trusted unconditionally could keep such a massive secret from me. It felt like our entire relationship had been built on lies, and I couldn't help but wonder 'Why? _Why_ didn't he tell me? Had I said something, done something maybe, to make him think he couldn't trust me? What did I do wrong?' It…it was an incredibly difficult time for me, to say the least."

Barb drew a breath. "I sold the house and moved here. Barney was the only thing of his that I kept; I couldn't stand to look at anything else, it was just too painful. It hurt to look at that dog too, but I convinced myself it would be cruel to give him up because nobody else would ever adopt the miserable old bastard." She managed a weak chuckle at her own joke. "Miserable… _I_ was miserable, and completely blamed myself for what had happened. No matter how often I replayed the events of that night inside my head, I just couldn't understand how or why things ended that way. As far as I knew, we had been happy together, so the only logical explanation was that something was very wrong with me, something I was hopelessly unaware of. I put on a strong face for everyone, including my family, but inside I was broken.

"Then, out of the blue, he calls me. More than a year of silence, a year of struggling to piece myself back together, and he suddenly calls me. I almost hung up on him, but something in his voice stopped me. He wasn't crying, but I could tell he was struggling not to. He told me he was in a mental health clinic in Maryland. He was struggling with severe depression, and had been for quite some time. I think about ten or twelve months before he left was when he said he first started to feel it... Anyway, he told me the day he left me, he'd planned on killing himself."

Cassandra stiffened. Why the hell was Barb telling her this?

"He never said what it was that stopped him from following through with his plan, and I didn't ask. It didn't seem right to ask something like that. He did tell me, though, that he'd thought a bad breakup would be far easier on me than finding him dead or planning a funeral. That was why he was such an ass about leaving me.

"Anyway… He checked himself into the hospital the morning after we broke up, and had been in and out of care ever since. He told me several therapists had instructed him to call me, saying we needed to talk things out in order to put the past behind us, but he'd never been able to pluck up the courage until then. He said…" She paused, drew a calming breath, and continued. "He said he didn't blame me for anything that had happened, so I shouldn't blame myself, either. He said he'd kept his depression a secret for so long because he was ashamed of it, that he'd secretly hoped that it wasn't really as bad as he thought and that it would just go away after a while. By the time he realized how bad it actually was…it was far too late."

Barb finally looked at her, and when she did, Cassandra was startled by the sheer intensity of that green gaze. It was like the woman was staring right through her flesh and bones, straight into her very soul.

"That's the nature of darkness, Cassandra. It takes you slowly, so slowly that most times you don't even know what's happening. Then the demons start to come out, but by then you're so helplessly trapped you can't escape even if you want to. It was like that for Omar. He believed he could overcome those wretched emotions, and the realization that he couldn't nearly came too late. It was only by the power of some saving grace that he didn't take his own life that night. Not everyone is so lucky. Some fall too hard, and are swallowed up quickly. Others are tortured and tormented by their demons to the bitter, bitter end. Depression, mental illness, addiction…they're all like that.

"I worry about you, Cassandra," she continued, still staring unblinkingly into wide brown eyes. "You're a good girl, but the way you act frightens me sometimes. You act as if nothing affects you, like your emotions are dead, like you couldn't care less about what happens to you. You've been all over town, but I've never seen you with friends. You go out in the middle of the night, in December, with no coat on. I had to practically break your arm to get you to join the track team, and you never talk about it except to say its 'fine'. Your dad disappears for an entire night and you don't ask about where he's at, not even once. Now you've got teachers showing up at your doorstep."

She shook her head, still not taking her eyes off the girl before her. "I'm not telling you what to do," she said softly. "I won't pretend to be your mother or to know what's best for you. But do try to find peace with yourself, one way or another. Please. As young as you are, if you can't find some sort of happiness then you're going to have a hell of a time enduring this life, and I don't want that sort of end for you. I wouldn't wish such torment on my worst enemy."

Cassandra didn't have a clue what to say to a story (not to mention a speech) like that, so she did the sensible thing and kept her mouth shut. She got to her feet and, without saying a word, retreated to the spare bedroom and closed the door with a quiet snap. Sitting there on the edge of the bed, Cassandra brooded over everything Barb had said, struggling to understand exactly what the woman had been trying to tell her.

* * *

A gentle gust of wind guided Jack into North's globe room, where the big man stood gazing up at the night sky. He landed lightly and asked, "Anything?"

"No." The Russian turned his head slightly to glance at the frost spirit. "You?"

He shook his head. It wasn't as if he'd expected to have some big breakthrough after only one night, but the results thus far were still disappointing.

North sighed quietly. "It's still early. We will find something."

Both spirits' attention gravitated towards the opening in the ceiling high above the globe. The patch of visible sky was dotted with stars, and faintly illuminated by the tiniest sliver of silver moon.

"What did Manny say?" Jack inquired.

The answer he received was far from the one he'd expected.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?!" Jack couldn't believe it. He stared between the moon and the Guardian of Wonder, hoping against hope that this was some sort of sick joke. "Not about the kid? Or Pitch? The bond? _Anything_?"

"Been trying for hours," North rumbled. His blue eyes were still fixed upon the sky, and there was a definite mixture of sadness and worry in his gaze. "Manny won't answer."

Jack fixed the barely visible crescent moon with an accusatory look. "Now's not the time to go all silent again, Manny!" he called. "We really need your help!"

Of course, Manny didn't answer. The Man in the Moon never did seem to ever have time or care for Jack. It made him feel hurt and sick and bitterly angry all at once.

"Why?" he hissed under his breath. "Why does he always do this? Why can't he just give us a straight answer for once?"

"Manny always has reason Jack," North advised in a gentle tone. "With matter this important, with child in danger, he would say something if he could, no?"

Jack swallowed a harsh retort and nodded stiffly instead. "I suppose." North was right of course. This wasn't like before, when Manny wouldn't speak to Jack about why he'd become a spirit; a child's life was in danger, and from none other than Pitch Black, the Nightmare King. As leader and creator of the Guardians of Childhood, Manny's duty was to see to the protection of Earth's children. For him to refuse to help in this case, something had to be going on, something that forced Manny to keep his silence.

Jack frowned as he pondered that. What sort of power was at play if even the Man in the Moon was hesitant to speak up? "Do you think he's worried about Pitch filing a grievance?" Issitoq was certainly powerful enough to foil Manny if pushed to do so.

"Don't think so." North scratched his beard. "I don't know what it could be."

Jack glanced around as a particular detail struck him suddenly. "Where's Sandy?"

"Went to see some friends, spirits you and Bunny don't know. He thinks they may know stories."

"Oh." Jack shuffled his feet. There'd been an awful lot on his mind the past few hours, and there were a few things in particular he wanted to get off his chest.

"Listen," he said, "about what happened. You know…attacking the kid and all. I honestly thought it was Pitch, otherwise I wouldn't have—"

One large hand lifted, effectively silencing the younger Guardian before he could finish.

"No apologies," North told him. "Was big misunderstanding."

Eyes fixed on the impeccably clean floor, Jack mumbled, "Yeah…I get myself into a lot of those."

If he was completely honest with himself, it was rather humiliating to be the cause of so many problems. Innocent tricks and fun pranks aside, Jack often felt like he created more problems than he solved. There hadn't been any major incidences since that last mess with Pitch more than two decades ago, but recent events had successfully resurrected all those old insecurities. He was personally responsible for the failure of not one, but two Easters ('68 being the first), was almost entirely at fault for Sandy's near-death experience (after all, he'd run off to deal with the Nightmares without waiting for the others, presenting the Boogeyman with the perfect opportunity to strike), and had nearly caused the four original Guardians to be forgotten forever.

And now, here he was again, getting into trouble for acting without thinking things through.

North, noticing his pained expression, put a comforting hand on Jack's shoulder. "We all make mistakes," he said quietly, bending lower to gaze deep into the frost spirit's eyes. "Last night is proof of this, no?" A small but incredibly warm smile quirked his mouth. "And Bunny will always be Bunny."

In spite of his previous gloom, Jack managed a small laugh. North's blue eyes twinkled.

"The past is past," the big man continued. "And tomorrow will be tomorrow. Don't let mistakes bother you, just try to do better. Yes?"

Jack nodded, feeling a little better. Strange, how something so simple could be so powerful.

With a flutter of fairy wings, Tooth Fairy arrived.

"Hi," she gasped. "Can't stay long, we've got a surplus!"

"One of those nights, huh?" Jack said with a grin.

She nodded a pleasant acknowledgement before addressing North. "I watched Cassandra's memories. I didn't see anything significant. Nothing she hasn't already told us, anyway." The words flew off her tongue in rapid succession, proving just how much of a hurry she was in. "She was telling the truth about Pitch. She only met him recently, and he seems to be just as much in the dark about her powers as we are."

Immensely satisfied with that answer, North replied, "Good. Means we still have time."

"I also think—though it's mostly my personal assumption—that she holds some respect for Sandy, even after what happened last night. At the very least, she admires his powers, which is more than I can say for how she feels about the rest of us, including Jamie."

"Hmmm…" North mused, rubbing his large belly thoughtfully. "Perhaps we let Sandy speak to her, then, on our behalf."

"That's a good idea," Jack said honestly. As the calmest and most rational Guardian, it made sense for Sandy to speak for them. In fact, it would work distinctly to their advantage.

Grim-faced, Tooth continued, "There's something else I think I ought to tell you guys. Cassandra, she…she's been terribly neglected." Both the Guardian of Fun and the Guardian of Wonder stiffened. "Not abused, as far as I can tell, at least not physically, but she's practically had to raise herself. She's only in Burgess because her mother threatened to put her into foster care if her father didn't take her in."

Jack sucked in a sharp breath. "That's why she doesn't believe," he stated, his voice pitched low due to his growing anger and indignation. "She's never been given a reason to hope or wonder or dream."

North shook his head sadly. "A lost child." He squared his shoulders. "We must help her. We _must_."

"I'll go back and help Bunny," Jack announced. The faster and smoother Easter preparations went, the sooner he and the Pooka could focus on helping their friends figure out what was going on with this poor human girl.

Nodding his goodbyes to the others, he flew up through the open ceiling. Casting a single backward glance at the tiny moon, he shook his head slightly to disperse any lingering doubts. Manny always had a reason for keeping quiet, didn't he? Even if they didn't understand it now, he was sure they'd figure it out sooner or later.

Spurred on by Wind, Jack sped towards the Warren, determined to be of assistance no matter how loudly Bunnymund insisted he didn't need or want the frost spirit's help.

* * *

As soon as Barb turned in for the night, Cassandra slipped into the shadows. Leaving the duplex far behind, she rematerialized once she was in the forest and strode purposefully towards the hole that led to Pitch's home. She'd only been there once, and there were no black sand horses to guide her this time, but she clearly remembered where it lay. Besides, thanks to her shadow magic, it was impossible to miss. The darkness inside that seemingly bottomless place beckoned to her, cried out for her presence like a lover bereft, and she dropped into the darkness without hesitation. After navigating the cave-like entrance with ease, she soon emerged in the decimated entrance room filled with broken rock and empty black cages.

"Pitch!" she called angrily. The cloak he'd given her was still neatly folded, tucked under one arm. When she received no answer, she grew even more frustrated and angry. Her next summons was little more than a bark. "Pitch!"

"My, my, what is this?"

He appeared from the gloom high above her head, standing on a broken walkway. He leaned over the edge to gaze down upon her, a smile on his lips. Glaring up at him, Cassandra quickly employed her power so she could stand before him, refusing to deal with this on anything less than even ground.

He smirked at the brazen display. "You invite yourself into my home and make casual use of my own shadows." His voice descended into an amused purr. "How very bold."

"Take it back," she commanded, thrusting the cloak towards him.

He quirked a brow. "Why?"

"You know damn well why," she snapped. "Take it back!"

"No," he said simply, grinning devilishly at his ability to deny her.

"You take this damn thing back," she growled, her hands and voice starting to shake. Crap. She was getting emotional again. She struggled to suppress it, but without the calming effects of the cloak it was extremely difficult, almost impossible in fact. So much had happened over the past few days, she was just too tired and stressed and upset and hurt and betrayed to act rationally right now.

"You should be thanking me," Pitch told her smoothly. "Thanks to me, the Guardians can't bother you anymore."

"I'm more than capable of dealing with my own problems." Why did everyone seem to think she needed help? The Guardians, Mr. Bennett, Barb and Coach Sophie… Even Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, was now sticking his ugly snubbed nose into her business.

Pitch's smirk broadened at her statement. "Are you? I wouldn't have thought so, considering how easily you accepted my gift."

Cassandra lost it. She lashed out at him with ice and snow, the frigid blast forcing him to fly across the room on a hastily summoned cloud of black nightmare sand. Throwing the cloak aside, Cassandra charged after him on her wind. Again and again she attacked, taking out her pent-up frustration and rage on the spirit of fear and shadow. He laughed at first, ducking and dodging her frost, the broken pillars and crumbling walls serving as excellent shields. But then she caught him unawares, guessing where he was headed and successfully cutting him off. The look of shock on his face didn't delight her as it otherwise would've; she was still far too angry to find anything amusing. Without wasting a second, she summoned all her magic and sent a concentrated blast of razor sharp ice shards right towards him, purposefully aiming for that smug gray face.

He vanished into a shadow at the last possible second. Ice shattered against a pile of rock, spraying blue-white crystals everywhere. She finally spotted him on a distant path, golden eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

"You should be grateful!" The words echoed loudly in the stark silence of his empty home. As Cassandra flew furiously towards him, he continued in an aggravated tone, "Things will be much easier now that the Guardians are off your back!"

She froze in mid-air. Hanging suspended by the wind, she asked guardedly, "What do you mean?"

He chuckled. The sound was quite sinister, and made even more so by an ominous echo. "Oh, if only I could tell you," he said silkily. Every single one of his sharp teeth became visible as he grinned hugely. "I think you'd like it."

Cassandra frowned as she puzzled over what he meant. Then her brows lifted, eyes growing slightly round. "You found something, didn't you?" The words escaped in a rush, the combination of exertion and growing excitement leaving her somewhat breathless. "You know why I have my magic!"

He spared her but a single cunning glance before turning smoothly away. "I told you before: You'd be surprised by what I know."

She flew to the broken path in all haste, panting slightly as she landed and became completely solid once more. Pitch was walking away from her, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"What's this about, Pitch?" she inquired. "What does your tricking me have to do with my power?"

"Ah, so many questions," he sighed, pretending not to care about her growing interest.

"Tell me." She leapt lightly down the walkway and slipped around the Nightmare King, effectively stopping his lazy stroll. Boldly meeting his golden gaze, she insisted, "Tell me what you know."

"Can't," he replied with a wicked smile. "But I truly wish I could. You don't know how _badly_ I want to see your reaction."

She didn't like his tone at all. He sounded so positively delighted by whatever it was he knew, and she recognized that smile. It was the same smile he wore whenever he knew she'd be deeply upset or disturbed by something.

Her fists clenched at her sides. "Tell me," she repeated quietly.

He huffed a sigh, annoyed by her stubbornness. "I already told you I can't. Did your visit with the Guardians make you lose your fantastic rabbit ears?"

"You know about that?"

"You wouldn't be down here shouting at me unless _somebody_ spilled my little secret." He stared down at her from his incredible height, golden eyes slightly narrowed. "If you want to be angry, be angry with them. They're just as much a part of this as I am, only they wouldn't know how to play by the rules. I had no choice but to mark you in order to keep my hand in this."

"In _what_?" Cassandra snarled. This was growing more complicated by the second, and he was supposed to be giving her answers! "What sort of game are you playing at?!"

"This is no game." Every last trace of his smile had vanished. "I'm only doing my part to ensure I get what I rightfully deserve."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

Pitch opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead of replying to her snarky retort, something deeply disturbing happened. The gold color of his eyes brightened briefly before fading again, like a flash, and something that Cassandra could only describe as pain flickered across his face. His jaw snapped shut, and in the time it took her to ask "Are you okay?" his trademark smirk was back.

"Of course," he replied, as if nothing had happened.

She stared at him, taking in his calm expression while her mind raced.

 _The hell was that?! The hell just happened?!_

As soon as her shell-shocked brain managed to sort through the rather short list of possibilities, her lips parted as her jaw sagged weakly.

 _He can't. He physically_ can't _tell me what this is all about. Someone…or something…is stopping him!_

"What's the matter?" Pitch inquired. It took Cassandra a moment to realize she'd taken a step back from him. She gaped openly, struck dumb by the implications of what she'd just understood.

 _Who could it be? Who could have the power to prevent the Nightmare King from speaking about my magic?_

Drawing a breath, she fought to regain her composure and won. Safely behind her indifferent mask once more, she studied the Boogeyman carefully. If she was to get to the bottom of this, she would have to keep her wits about her; she'd already embarrassed herself by growing emotional, and it was becoming clearer by the second that she would lose far more than her pride if she continued to act irrationally.

"How long have you known the truth?" she finally asked. If he'd been lying to her this entire time, pretending to be ignorant just to manipulate her and make her malleable to his whims…

"Oh, I'd had my suspicions, of course, but I didn't receive confirmation until last night."

"And how, precisely, did you confirm those suspicions?"

He stood there, smiling down at her, and said nothing.

"Something else you can't tell me?" Her eyes narrowed. "Or won't?"

"Would it anger you less if I said it was the former rather than the latter?"

"Not really."

"Then it doesn't really matter which is the case, does it?"

Cassandra had to take another calming breath to keep from snapping at him. He was trying to aggravate her on purpose, though she couldn't tell if he was attempting to divert her attention away from something important or if Pitch was just being Pitch.

 _All these secrets and riddles… I just wanna know what's going on! It's_ my _magic, dammit, why can't I just get a straight answer?!_

She thought hard. "If you can't tell me," she said after a time, "does that mean the Guardians won't be able to tell me, either, even if they figure it out?"

He didn't answer, which she took for a yes.

"So how the hell am I supposed to figure this out if no one will tell me anything?" she growled, deeply frustrated by the entire predicament.

"Don't worry," Pitch said silkily. "You'll find out soon enough."

"From who? The moon?"

He chuckled. "Funny you should say that…"

She wondered at his reaction. "What? Don't tell me the moon is a spirit too."

"Not the moon, per se."

"So…what, there's a spirit on the moon?"

"More or less."

"And can they tell me about my magic?"

"No."

In spite of her best efforts, she was starting to lose patience again. She nearly shouted, "Why not?!"

"As leader of the Guardians, his influence is strictly forbidden in this matter. That means no discussions with you…or with them."

"So he can't tell them, either?"

"Not unless he wants to be punished," Pitch purred. He was thoroughly enjoying whatever scheme all these spirits—and one unsuspecting human—had found themselves entrapped in.

Cassandra rubbed her aching temples. "Can you at least tell me what I'm supposed to get out of all of this? Or am I just some poor sap who got stuck with the short end of the stick?"

Pitch laughed again. "I think you'll appreciate what's in store for you." He moved around her at last to continue his stroll up the crumbling walkway. Without looking back, he called smugly, "In fact, I _know_ you'll like it. It's something you've wanted for a long time."

She emitted a disbelieving snort. "How would you know what I want?"

She could hear the grin in his voice, even if she couldn't see it on his face. "I can easily guess, based upon your fear."

"I'm not scared of anything."

"No," he acknowledged. "You're not scared. Not of childish things anyway. But you _are_ afraid of something. I know. It's one thing I always know." He turned his head to smirk over one black-robed shoulder. "Your biggest fear, the one thing you dread most in the entire world, is that you will never be happy."

"So is yours.

The words were incredibly childish, said only because she couldn't come up with any sensible rebuff on the fly, and yet they stopped Pitch dead in his tracks. He spun around to face her, his eyes so very wide and startled Cassandra actually shrank back reflexively. She hadn't been expecting that reaction at all. Why on earth would he…?

Wait… Biggest fear… Something he always knew…

Could it be…?

Slowly, tentatively, Cassandra summoned the magic that fueled her shadows and nightmare sand. As it filled her consciousness, she concentrated hard on Pitch Black and realized…

…she was right.

* * *

The muffled thumps of dropped parcels and a stifled curse heralded Sophie's arrival. Jamie shook his head at his sister's clumsiness. Even in adulthood, she just couldn't get from Point A to Point B without tripping or dropping something. It had annoyed him as a kid, the way her melodramatic whimpers always snapped up their mom's attention, but as they grew older he'd come to realize that she wasn't faking it in the least. She actually was that clumsy. With understanding came unprecedented empathy…and amusement. He smiled weakly as Sophie picked up the scattered grocery bags and dropped them onto the table.

"Here," she gasped, pushing blonde bangs out of her eyes. Groceries deposited, she held out her hand and made a "give me" gesture. "Money."

He pushed two twenty dollar bills across the table towards her.

"Thanks."

As she pocketed the money, Jamie finally spoke. "What did you think of lunch?"

Sophie quirked eyebrow. The two of them hadn't been able to discuss the matter previously, as Jamie had been called to a last-minute meeting soon after their meal. Unable to go to the store as he'd originally planned, he texted his sister to ask if she'd pick up some groceries for him, figuring they could always talk about what happened when she stopped by.

"Well," she said with a long sigh, "it was definitely interesting."

"I can't believe she honestly thinks she can deal with him on her own," her brother muttered. He shook his head exasperatedly. "Isn't that what got her into this mess in the first place? Why can't she see that we're just trying to help her? Why is she so stubborn?"

Sophie laughed, startling him tremendously. "She's eleven, Jamie." When he stared at her, flabbergasted, she reached over the table to pat him on the shoulder, a knowing smile on her lips. "They're all like that."

Jamie huffed indignantly. "Well, if she thinks I'm going to just sit back and let that wretched spirit walk all over her and play her like a guitar, then she's got another thing coming. Sooner or later she's going to understand that—"

There was a bright flash, temporarily blinding the two humans. Sophie shrieked and Jamie's chair clattered to the floor as he stood up suddenly, knocking the seat clean over. Completely by reflex he grabbed for her, his every instinct screaming at him to protect his sister.

The gesture was unnecessary, however. Once they'd blinked away the stars behind their eyelids, they saw that they weren't in any danger at all. Rather, a very strange spirit had suddenly appeared in Jamie Bennett's kitchen.

Her face twisted with shock and mild disgust, Sophie nearly yelled into her brother's ear, "What the hell is that?!"

Wide-eyed and partially deafened, Jamie shook his head. He'd never seen anything like it before in his life. It was a lidless blue eye, about the size of his fist. It had no visible mouth yet was audibly panting, sagging exhaustedly in mid-air as tiny bat-like wings flapped feebly to keep it airborne. It had stick-like arms and legs, each about six inches long and tipped with tiny hands and feet, giving it an even more bizarre appearance than its utter lack of a body did. Surely appendages that slim couldn't hold _anything,_ let alone that great big eye.

"Hello," he greeted hesitantly. Having no idea what sort of spirit it could be, or whether it was even benign, he figured that was the safest possible thing to utter.

Shaking itself out of its stupor, the spirit turned its single eye towards him. It stared for a moment, seeming to search for something in the human male's face, before it lifted one thin arm and passed him a scroll.

"Thank you," Jamie said, completely lacking anything better to say. It felt like his mind had turned into mush.

Without uttering a single word, the spirit vanished, leaving the two humans alone once more.

"The hell was that?" she asked breathlessly.

"I don't know," he replied softly, staring at the scroll in his hand. How could they see a spirit they didn't believe in? It couldn't be one of the Guardians' assistants, of that he was absolutely certain. So then why was it coming to his house, giving them things?

The scroll weighed next to nothing, and yet it felt like it bore an incredible heft. He didn't know much about the spirit world—the Guardians were loath to speak of anything beyond their own selves or Pitch, out of respect for others—but he suspected this completely unexpected delivery wasn't a good sign. The crisp paper was bound shut with an unfamiliar wax seal, the old-world formality all-but confirming Jamie's growing worry.

He lifted a hand, but Sophie clapped one of her own to his wrist. "Don't," she warned.

Jamie looked at her. "Don't what? Open it? It's obviously important."

She shook her head firmly. Jamie couldn't really blame his sister for her reluctance. She still believed in spirits, yes, but that was not of her own volition. In fact, it was entirely his fault. It had been virtually impossible for her to forget about the Guardians when he constantly spoke of them, his stories keeping the memories fresh in her mind no matter how badly she'd wanted to forget. The spirit world was trouble, in her opinion. Far more trouble than it was worth. She held a bit of a soft spot for Bunnymund, even after all these years, but had still decided when she hit ninth grade that if she couldn't forget, then she would do her damnedest to keep a strict distance between herself and anything even remotely otherworldly. She'd only agreed to go along with Jamie to meet Cassandra Fisher because her brother had convinced her that the matter was urgent, and now, looking deep into her eyes, Jamie could see that Sophie was starting to deeply regret immersing herself in that life again.

"Don't worry," he quietly assured her. "It'll be all right. You'll see."

She didn't look convinced at all, but that was because he didn't sound overly convincing. With trembling fingers, Jamie carefully broke the wax seal and unrolled the scroll. He read the first couple of words and his eyes practically bulged out of his head.

"What is it?" Sophie asked, alarmed. "What does it say?"

Pale-faced, Jamie read to her in a strained, hoarse voice. "'By the order of the Great Adjudicating Eye, the humans Jamie Bennett and his sister, Sophie Bennett, are hereby…" He paled further still, until his skin color could rival Jack's. He swallowed thickly before continuing, the words weak and trembling. "'…are hereby forbidden from having any contact with the human child Cassandra Fisher except in matters deemed absolutely necessary under the provisions of their mortal employment. Any matter associated with the magic possessed by said child, or with the existence, character and/or actions of the spirit Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, are not to be discussed by them with any human or spirit until permission is expressly granted by this judiciary body.

"'Furthermore, the humans Jamie Bennett and Sophie Bennett are strictly forbidden from having any form of contact with Jack Frost, Nicholas St. North, E. Aster Bunnymund, Toothiana, or Sandman, known collectively as the Guardians of Childhood, until such notice is given that the present order has been retracted.

"'Any and all provisions enclosed within this order have been enacted due to the biased, unsolicited influence the humans Jamie Bennett and Sophie Bennett sought to impart upon the child Cassandra Fisher on behalf of the Guardians of Childhood. Failure to comply with these commands will result in the humans Jamie Bennett and Sophie Bennett losing the rights and privileges bestowed upon them by their unprecedented belief.'"

It was signed, but he didn't dare read all those titles aloud. As he trailed to a stop, Sophie breathed his name. "Jamie…?"

She sounded hurt, confused…and scared. Very scared. If he was completely honest with himself, Jamie was scared, too.

"If we try to help Cassandra or speak to the Guardians," he whispered, "Issitoq will use magic to make us forget about the spirit world. We'll lose our belief, and never see or hear from any of them ever again."


	8. Confusion and Concern

Author's Note:

Thanks as always for all the views, reviews, follows and faves! You guys are awesome. :)

 **WinterCrystal1009:** I'm not going to spoil anything for anyone, even in private messages, 'cause that would be cheating! It's a mystery for a reason, wallow in the suspense...Muwahahaha!

(Speaking of suspense, I did change the 'Angst' genre to 'Suspense'. Most of you probably saw that coming, and I'd been debating changing it for a while now but the reviews for the past couple of chapters really sealed it for me. I doubt the genres will change again, seeing as how I have a pretty firm idea now of where this whole thing's headed.)

 **Momochan77:** Glad to see you again, and so happy to hear you love it so much. Things will become clear slowly but surely, so you'll eventually see how it all fits together. *evil grin*

 **Silversun XD:** Yesssssss...

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Hopefully in a good way, and not a bad one. I would hate for people to actually get killed over this. ;)

Please enjoy this chapter! And, of course, reviews are always welcome and greatly appreciated! :D

* * *

It came as an immense surprise to the Guardians when the next few weeks passed with absolutely no word from Ikiaq. Easter came and went without incident, not even a chance sighting of the Nightmare King. On the one hand, Bunnymund was pleased have his holiday succeed without a hitch, especially when he'd been expecting the absolute worst. On the other hand, though, all five Guardians knew that such peaceful nights did not bode well. Whatever Pitch Black had planned, this was simply the calm before an unrelenting, all-consuming storm.

Nevertheless, they used the façade of serenity to their advantage. Or, at least, they attempted to: they asked every spirit they knew and trusted; they scoured hundreds if not thousands of books and scrolls; they discussed and debated and picked each other's brains…all to no avail. No one knew anything about human magic (many openly laughed at the very idea of such a thing), and no matter how wild or creative the Guardians became with their brainstorming, no single idea could explain Cassandra's existence, her odd assortment of powers, Pitch's involvement _and_ Manny's stubborn silence. Each thing on its own was an enigma; put them all together and it created an impossible mystery.

Further compounding the problem (and the Guardians' growing anxiety) was the fact that they'd suddenly lost all contact with Jamie. The fairies were the first to notice something was amiss. They spotted him out and about town one night and fluttered down to say hi, as they always did, only to be completely ignored. It was as if the human couldn't see or hear them, even when they flew right in front of his face and twittered with all their might. Tooth Fairy eventually tried to go see him personally, so as to assure her helpers that nothing was wrong, but found her way blocked by powerful magic.

"His apartment's completely sealed," she reported to the other Guardians. Only Sandy was absent; he was still out meeting with whatever spirits he had connections with. "I can't get in, and neither can my fairies. We can't even open a window."

Frowning, North pulled a snow globe from his coat pocket (said garment being slung over the back of a nearby chair), shook it, and smashed it against the ground. Color and light swirled for a brief moment before spluttering out, the portal having failed to open.

"Strange…" he murmured.

"I'll go," Bunny offered, and promptly rapped his foot against the workshop floor. Nothing happened. Frowning deeply, he tried again. And again. "I can't," he said thickly. His large foot pounded heavily against the polished wood over and over again, each attempt more desperate than the last. "I can't get inside!"

"I'll go," Jack said, but just as he made to fly off, Bunny heaved a sigh. A tunnel had finally appeared.

"Out in the street in front of his apartment," he informed the others. He waved to Jack. "Come on, quick! Let's go see what this is all about!"

"Call us if there's trouble!" North called as they disappeared into the hole.

They emerged on a dimly-lit street. Jack immediately flew up to Jamie's doorway and tried the knob. He wrenched his hand back with a gasp. There was a powerful magical barrier surrounding his friend's apartment, just as Tooth had said. It completely blocked him from entering, and shocked him like an electrical current if he tried.

There was only one spirit in existence who could isolate a human like this…but why would he target Jamie? He hadn't done anything wrong!

"Jamie?" Concerned about alarming any kids who might be living in the adjacent apartments, Jack struggled to keep calm as he called out as loud as he dared. "Jamie! You okay?"

"Jack," Bunny cautioned, but the frost spirit wasn't listening. He flew in all haste to the nearest window and tried to peer inside, but couldn't see a thing.

"Jamie?!" he cried, growing increasingly desperate. "Why aren't you answering?! Are you okay? Jamie!"

"Jack!"

The tone of Bunny's voice caught his attention that time. Jack's head whipped around, only to see the Pooka staring up at the roof, his mouth set into a grim line. He craned his neck and felt his stomach drop when he spotted what Bunny was looking at.

One of Issitoq's Watchful Eyes was perched on the very edge of the roof, staring impassively down at the two Guardians.

"Come on," Bunnymund quietly advised. He opened a tunnel to take them back to the Pole, but instead of heading for it Jack sped off in the opposite direction. "Jack!" the Pooka shouted after him. " _Jack_!"

Anger burned like acid inside Jack's stomach. Silencing Manny was one thing, the moon spirit could take care of himself; manipulating a child was worse, but it was just Pitch's nature to use and abuse people. But _this_? This was beyond excusable, and Jack wasn't about to stand for it.

"Jack!" The Guardian of Hope bounded along Burgess' nearly-empty streets, dodging the occasional car and leaping over garbage cans and street benches in his attempt to keep up. "Stop this Jack! This ain't gonna help!"

Jack could barely hear him over the pounding in his ears. He couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to…and he _didn't_ want to. Pitch was the cause of this. He knew it. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the wretched excuse of a spirit was personally responsible for Jamie's being silenced and isolated like a prisoner. How could he do such a thing? How could Pitch punish Jamie when he hadn't done anything wrong? And how could Issitoq go along with such a horrid scheme?!

Well if no one else was going to stand up for Jamie, then Jack would!

"Jack!"

Again ignoring the desperate Pooka, Jack darted down into the opening that led to Pitch's realm. Bunny skidded to a halt along the edge, ears pulled taut against his head. For a terrible moment, he was deeply torn between the knowledge that going down into the Nightmare King' s domain was suicide and the overwhelming need to protect an emotional Jack from his own irrationality. But friendship swiftly won over self-preservation, and he leapt after the hysterical frost spirit, who was busy shouting into the gloom: "Pitch! Pitch! Pitch Black, you come out and face me!"

"Jack," Bunny repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. His voice echoed in the quiet despite his best attempts to keep a low profile. If Pitch wasn't here, there was a small chance they could escape without the Boogeyman ever knowing they were there. "Come on, Jack, let's get outta here before—"

Deep, sinister chuckling silenced him. It echoed throughout the room, making it impossible for either spirit to tell exactly where it was coming from. They both dropped into defensive stances, Bunnymund looking extremely nervous while Jack appeared quite livid.

"Pitch!" the frost spirit barked, brandishing his staff aggressively. "You black-hearted snake! How could you do this?!"

"My, my, what a temper," Pitch cooed. He still hadn't materialized, making every single shadow incredibly suspect. "Are you sure you're all right, Jack? You don't look well at all."

"Why did you do that to Jamie?!"

"Who?"

Jack's naturally pale complexion darkened with rage. "Don't play stupid! I know it was you! You filed grievance against him, didn't you?!"

"Why in the name of darkness would I do that?"

His voice was smooth and calm, the epitome of innocent bewilderment. Deep down, Jack knew the Nightmare King was purposefully toying with him, but such understanding did nothing to calm him down. This was Jamie, his longtime friend, who was being used like a pawn and toyed with like some wretched plaything. The human deserved so much better than that after everything he'd done for the Guardians.

"He didn't do anything wrong," he choked out. Hot angry tears were starting to pool up inside his eyes. He blinked them back, absolutely refusing to break down in front of this spirit. "It was absolutely uncalled for, for you to involve him in this!"

"Didn't you involve him first?"

Pitch finally emerged, standing not a dozen yards away as if he had no cause to fear the two intruders. And he didn't. This was his home, his domain, his personal realm. Down here, where shadows came alive and virtually every step they took could carry them into a blackened void from which there was literally no escape unless the Boogeyman willed it, the Guardians were rendered powerless.

Down here, Pitch Black was untouchable.

"It was on your behalf that he decided to interfere," he reminded them. "He must've said something really terrible to earn Issitoq's ire. I feel like I should be insulted." He pouted, though his golden eyes positively glowed with mirth. "Yet here you are, accusing me of being in the wrong. And you've intruded upon my home…that's three things you've done wrong." He shook his head, clicking his tongue condescendingly as if chiding a pair of children. "You really aren't leaving me any choice _but_ to file grievance."

"Go ahead," Jack retorted boldly. "I'm not scared of you!"

"No," Pitch replied in a silky murmur. "No, your fear has changed quite a bit in the past few decades. You used to fear not being believed in. But now…"

Jack felt as if his blood turned to ice in his veins. He liked the cold—loved it, in fact—but this was not a pleasant sensation at all. No! He didn't want Bunnymund to hear this! If any of his friends learned about his newest fear, things would never be the same between them ever again!

To his immense relief, Pitch never finished what he was going to say. Instead of rubbing the frost spirit's weakness right into his face, the Nightmare King sighed quietly. "Well, that's enough fun for one night." He waved his hand dismissively as he turned away, presenting his back to the Guardians. "Fly on home now, little Jack. And take your hopping rabbit with you."

He disappeared. In spite of his previous rage and fear, Jack was left incredibly confused by the sudden departure.

 _That's it? Why isn't he putting up more of a fight?_

"Come on," Bunny said quietly, speaking for the first time since Pitch had revealed himself to them. "Let's go back."

The Pooka's expression was completely unreadable. Jack felt his anger drain into the ground, as if he'd been stuck with a spigot, leaving him uncomfortably numb. He nodded weakly, and they left the Boogeyman's realm without further incident. Bunnymund was silent as they traveled the tunnel back to the Pole; a part of Jack wondered what he was thinking, but an even greater part didn't want to find out. He knew the Pooka was furious with him, even if he wasn't showing it.

They arrived to find North and Tooth waiting anxiously for them, though the latter was still dishing out directions to her fairies. She stopped as soon as Bunny and Jack popped out of the tunnel, turning her full attention to her friends.

"How'd it go?" she inquired. Her gaze flicked between Bunny's impassive stare and Jack's guilt-ridden, downcast eyes. A confused frown settled upon her face. "Bunny? Jack?"

"Is Jamie all right?" North pressed.

"Issitoq's got Eyes on him. We ain't allowed contact," the Pooka reported. His voice, like his eyes, was almost stony in its sheer lack of emotion. Jack had to suppress a cringe just from hearing it.

North's breath hitched. "Pitch filed grievance?"

"Not according to him."

"You saw him?!" the big man gasped, hardly able to believe it. "Why did you not call? What happened?!"

Bunnymund pierced Jack with a pointed glance, and the frost spirit visibly winced. Two additional pairs of eyes fell upon him at once, putting him in an incredibly uncomfortable spot.

"I…I got really upset," he murmured, his voice filled with contrition even as he explained what had transpired. "This is _Jamie_ you guys, Jamie: my good friend, the very first human to believe in me. I just…I just wanted to know why Pitch had done it."

"Oh, Jack," Tooth Fairy whispered. He wanted to curl up in shame from the disappointment she exuded with those two simple words.

"I'm sorry…"

"Anyway," Bunny cut in gruffly. "Least we know for sure now that Pitch is up to something. He not only pretended to not know a thing about Jamie, he let us go without lifting a finger."

North's bushy brows drew together. "Really?"

"Yeah. Didn't see a single one of his Nightmares, either, though they're definitely down there. I heard them talking"

"Do you think he's planning to attack again?" Tooth inquired of North. The little fairies that lingered over her shoulder huddled close at the very mention of such a thing. Twenty years may have passed since Pitch's last power grab, but they still remembered clearly how he'd captured them and held them prisoner in the depths of his lair.

The big man patted his belly as he considered Tooth's question. That was never a good sign.

"He must be lying about what happened to Jamie," she mused aloud. "Issitoq has never barred a human from contacting us before. For him to do so now… It just doesn't make sense unless Pitch is behind it."

"To take such drastic step, Issitoq _must_ have due cause," North reminded her. He shook his head. "Jamie is innocent. Does not make sense for him to be punished."

The group fell silent as they all pondered the problem. The Adjudicating Eye, as the spirit of justice and law, was quite literally incapable of taking any unjust action; the very essence of his existence, not to mention his magic, was based upon the very principle of impartiality. So for him to impose such harsh restrictions upon Jamie, there _had_ to be a reason, but the Guardians just couldn't fathom what their human friend might have done to deserve such punishment.

"Maybe…Pitch did not lie," North said at last. He sounded a bit choked, as if he could barely force himself to say the words.

"What?!" Bunny cried while the others all gaped at the big man. "You're joking mate!"

"No," the Guardian of Wonder said firmly. He shook his head again. "No. I do not jest. Pitch did nothing to Jamie. And he did nothing to Bunny and Jack." His bright blue eyes were grim. "He is waiting. Waiting until our mistakes catch up to us."

"Letting our reputation sink, and Issitoq's ire grow," Tooth said softly, dawning realization bringing worry and even a touch of fear to her amethyst gaze.

"Either that," Bunny suggested, his ears pulling tight against his head, "or Issitoq's part of this too. That would explain why Manny ain't talkin' to us."

Tooth Fairy's eyes grew enormous. "No!" she gasped. "You don't think… You're not suggesting _Issitoq_ gave Cassandra her magic, do you?!"

"He _is_ powerful enough," Jack offered, speaking for the first time in minutes.

"Impossible!" North barked, making the frost spirit jump. "Issitoq cannot create spirits! It's against the rules!"

"There's always a first for everything," Bunny pointed out. "And it makes sense. It not only explains Manny's stubborn silence, but also why Pitch is taking his sweet time filing grievances against us and why he let me and Jack go. He's waiting for Issitoq to do the dirty work for him."

North would not be swayed. He shook his head over and over again, until his beard swished almost violently back and forth. He insisted, "No! Impossible!"

Almost inevitably, the two of them started bickering. The debate raged on for quite some time, the Guardians standing almost toe-to-toe as they argued and counter-argued. Jack stood back and watched in gloomy silence. He supposed he ought to be grateful Bunny hadn't made a bigger deal out of what he'd done, but at the same time he almost wished he had, that way they could've gotten the condemnation out of the way quickly and Jack could've moved on with making amends.

A small hand coming to rest on his shoulder pulled him from his miserable thoughts. Tooth offered him a small, weary smile and gestured for him to follow. He did so, leaving the other two to their squabble.

"They'll be at it for a while," she murmured once they were out in the corridor. "Might as well wait until they hash it out, maybe get some work done… Anchorage, sector six, premolar," she added in a rush to one of her fairies, who chirped in understanding before scooting off. Tooth heaved a sigh. "Never a moment's peace with this job, that's for sure." She glanced at Jack. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jack said with a grin. He hoped it looked convincing. "Of course."

She studied him, and Jack could tell she wasn't convinced at all. He looked away, staring down at his pale feet as they walked.

"Listen," he said, clutching his staff tight, "I really didn't mean to make things worse. I just…I don't know. I don't know why I always act without thinking."

"Fun is spontaneous, Jack, you know that better than anyone. It only makes sense for the rest of your nature to mirror your center, doesn't it?"

When the frost spirit's despair didn't lessen, Tooth patiently explained, "Jamie's been your friend for a long time, Jack. It's normal to act impulsively when those we love are in danger. Remember when Pitch abducted my fairies?"

He nodded. Of course he remembered; he remembered it like it had happened yesterday, even though it had been more than twenty years ago.

"Remember how I attacked Pitch? I didn't even have my sword, I just grabbed Bunny's boomerang. The moment I saw him, so many emotions hit me all at once: anger and rage, indignation, worry for my fairies and even a bit of fear. I didn't think. I just acted. It was stupid, outright foolish, but I did it anyway, and I almost got eaten by a Nightmare because of it."

Jack snorted. Eaten? That was a bad joke if ever he'd heard one.

Tooth smiled, pleased that she'd managed to lift Jack's spirits, if only a little. "We're not perfect beings Jack, never were and never will be. Remember how Bunny reacted when he was forgotten?" Neither of them was smiling now. "He didn't even listen to you, he just lashed out. We all did…but him worst of all. We shouldn't have done that. We should have listened to you and let you explain, but we didn't. Because of that, we almost lost everything to Pitch."

She put her hand on his shoulder again, effectively stopping the frost spirit in the middle of the corridor so she could look deep into ice blue eyes. "Because of what you lived through both as a human and as a spirit, you possess an incredible capacity to feel. That isn't a bad thing, and you should never think of it as being a personal handicap or a detriment to the group. Never," she reiterated firmly when Jack opened his mouth to voice disagreement. "The four of us were lost, Jack. We'd become so full of ourselves and our duties we'd forgotten what it truly meant to be a Guardian. You were the one who taught us how to relax and have fun, how to love and embrace the children unconditionally. You were the one who got Jamie to believe in us again when all the others had lost their belief. Without you, we would have never defeated Pitch."

Tooth pressed a finger into his chest to emphasize each point, and Jack could only stand there and stare stupidly as he absorbed everything she said.

"So don't ever doubt your strength or your ability to help," she continued, giving him one final poke. "Heck, even your mistake tonight wasn't nearly as bad as you seem to think. If you hadn't reacted that way, we wouldn't have figured out that Pitch is holding back, which means he's hiding behind someone incredibly powerful. That certainly narrows down the possibilities."

"Yeah," Jack said, brightening a little. "Yeah, you're right."

Tooth pulled back as she laughed. "Of course I am! I contribute to this group too you know." She considered the frost spirit for a moment. "Even the Guardian of Fun is allowed to be upset sometimes. Just don't let it get you down too much, okay? You're way too hard on yourself, just like Bunny."

"Bunny?" That feisty Pooka?

"You can't tell? He's always so serious about everything, especially Easter, and takes it really, really hard whenever he fails. It isn't because he's proud, but because so many lives depend on hope. Without it, children and spirits alike lose the will and desire to believe in better things, to dream of the possibility of a brighter future, or to even care about the present. It's the thread that binds our whole self together and the fuel that keeps us going, even when things are at their most dire. One way or another, we all need hope in order to thrive, and that puts a great deal of pressure on Bunny. To him, any sort of failure, no matter how minute, is to let everyone down, and he has a really hard time handling that. I see a lot of the same in you too."

Jack didn't know what to say in response to that, so he did the smart thing for once and didn't say anything at all. Things between him and the Pooka had definitely improved over the past couple of decades, but the two of them still clashed quite a bit. He'd always thought it was because they were two very different spirits, but from what Tooth was saying it was actually because they were very much the same.

A slight frown touched his mouth as he remembered something from earlier. When he'd tried to apologize to the others for messing things up again, Bunny had cut him off. The reaction had stung and made him think the Pooka didn't want to hear or accept an apology from him, but maybe…maybe Bunny had actually been trying to help him. Maybe in his own gruff, weird, roundabout way, the older spirit had been trying to tell him that an apology wasn't necessary and that the others needed to back off.

 _Maybe he understands more than I give him credit for._

A grin spread across his pale face. "Thanks Tooth."

She returned the smile with a warm one of her own.

"Hey mates."

Tooth and Jack turned in unison to spot none other than Bunnymund, the Guardian of Hope, who'd bounded down the hallway to catch up with them. The frost spirit wondered who'd won the argument, him or North, but the Pooka spoke again before he could ask.

"Come on. Sandy's back and he's gotta talk to us."

"Did he find something?" Tooth asked hopefully.

"If he did, it ain't good," he replied grimly.

After sharing a concerned look with the fairy, Jack followed Bunny back to the globe room. Sandy was waiting there with North, and judging from the look on his yellow face, Bunny was right: it was either no news or very bad news.

"What is it?" the frost spirit inquired of the pudgy little man. "Did you find something?"

"Does anyone know what's going on?" Tooth asked a heartbeat later.

Sandy waited until they were all assembled then delivered his message in carefully arranged symbols.

The Guardians needed to speak directly with Issitoq. Immediately.

Bunny let out a breath. To Jack, it almost sounded like a gasp. "Why? What's happened, Sandy?"

"Is it grievance?" North asked. Perhaps the Guardian of Memories had received one while he was away.

Sandy shook his head.

"So it's about Cassandra's magic, then?" Tooth clarified.

He nodded.

"I knew it," Bunny grumbled. "I _knew_ Issitoq was part of this."

"Is impossible for him to create spirits," North uttered between clenched teeth, as if he'd said it a hundred times before. This answered Jack's unspoken question clearly: the argument between the two of them hadn't been resolved in the slightest.

Sandy waved his hand to get their attention then nodded his head to both Bunny and North.

"They're both right?" Jack guessed.

Sandy shrugged his shoulders as if to say "Wellll…"

"Are we right or ain't we?" Bunnymund snapped impatiently.

More silent symbols informed him that they had to speak to Issitoq, that Sandy was pretty sure what was going on but didn't want to make any assumptions.

"Issitoq will at least know what's going on, even if he's not involved," Tooth Fairy pointed out, and Sandy nodded to her in acknowledgement.

"Then we'll go," North announced. "When night is over and Tooth and Sandy have finished work, we will leave."

And so, the following morning when their nightly tasks were complete, all five Guardians gathered their courage and made the journey to Ikiaq.

* * *

The past few weeks had been rather peculiar for Cassandra Fisher. So many good things had happened: Carol still hadn't come back, and it was starting to look like she never would; track season was in full swing, nightly practices and weekly competitions keeping her busy both in body and mind; Easter came and went without one person trying to suck her into a conversation about the stupid Easter Bunny; and the Bennetts were leaving her alone. Such a complete one-eighty should have pleased her, but it didn't. Instead she found it incredibly suspicious. She could understand why the so-called Guardians were leaving her alone, considering what Mr. Bennett had told her about Pitch Black and the grievances, but for Mr. Bennett to avoid her too just didn't make any sense. Before he would always smile and wave enthusiastically whenever he saw her, engaging her in pointless conversation just as he did with any other student. And after what he'd said at the deli about it being his responsibility to protect her, Cassandra had expected him and the coach to start hanging all over her like a pair of stalkers.

But Coach Sophie was all business, and now whenever her brother caught sight of Cassandra, his smile would become stiff and he'd quickly scurry off. It had amused her at first; maybe he finally realized just how stupid he'd been to presume he had any right to stick his face into her life. After a while, though, it grew immensely aggravating. Just what the hell was going on now? Why did everything that somehow involved her always happen without her knowledge? She was really getting sick of it.

And so, one day at school, Cassandra walked right up to Mr. Bennett and deliberately engaged him in conversation, just to see what his reaction would be. He was clearly surprised, for she'd never been the one to make initial contact, but he looked incredibly uncomfortable all the same. Then, when she made casual mention of the Easter holiday by asking whether or not he'd enjoyed it, his face turned white. Eyes flicked back and forth guiltily, as if he feared getting caught doing something wrong, and after making some poor excuse to get away he practically fled from her. Another teacher who happened to be passing by stared after him before fixing Cassandra with a look that seemed to ask 'What the hell did you say to him?'

Completely ignoring both the unspoken question and the woman who'd presented it, Cassandra concentrated on Mr. Bennett's retreating back and summoned her shadow magic. This was the first time she'd ever used it in such a public place, but there were no kids around right now and the odds of that woman teacher being a believer were slim to none. Besides, she had to know for sure…

Yes. Mr. Bennett was scared all right. He was scared of losing his belief in the Guardians.

A puzzled frown touched her mouth. Why would he be afraid of such a thing? Unless he got hit in the head or something and suffered amnesia, he wouldn't just up and forget the Guardians after believing in them for so long. It was stupid of him to fear something like that so greatly.

Unless…

"Did you do something to Mr. Bennett?"

Pitch Black's sigh was long and weary, if a bit heavy on the over exaggeration. "Why does everyone seem to think I'm the one responsible for that brat's predicament? I lost interest in him ages ago."

"I heard he foiled your last plot to overthrow the Guardians."

"Yes, well, he's certainly getting his comeuppance for interfering, now, isn't he?"

"So you _did_ do something."

Pitch rolled his eyes. He no longer had care enough to fool around, and simply sounded annoyed. "Please. I told you no one is allowed to interfere in this…plot. Such a rule doesn't stop with Moon; it extends to virtually any spirit or human who seeks to influence you."

Ah. That made sense. The conversation between her and the Bennetts at the deli had happened weeks ago, but it was definitely around the time they'd started acting weird.

"So they're being punished because they tried to make me think the Guardians were better than you?"

Pitch said nothing. He watched with a cunning smirk as she tried to piece together what was going on.

"If no one's supposed to influence me, then that means my opinion is important here, doesn't it? Whatever's going on is strictly between you and the Guardians and I'm…somehow…a referee?"

He threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed until Cassandra's face burned with humiliation.

"Stop mocking me!" she shouted over the echoes of his ceaseless mirth. "If no one's going to tell me anything, I don't have any choice but to guess!"

"Oh my dear girl," he chortled as he finally calmed down, "so close and yet so far."

"The hell does that mean?"

"Can't tell you," he replied, earning himself a growl of frustration from the human girl. "Out of curiosity, what exactly did that big brat say about me?"

Now it was Cassandra's turn to smirk. "I thought you said you'd lost interest in him."

His response came smoothly and easily, as if the pointed jab hadn't bothered him in the slightest. "I did, but that doesn't mean I'm not curious to know what he said. It was bad enough to earn Issitoq's ire, after all."

She shrugged. "It wasn't all that bad, really. Just some crap about you being evil and how you're probably going to kill me."

One dark brow rose. "You don't sound overly concerned."

"You said yourself that you don't hurt children."

"No," he admitted, though his golden eyes had begun to narrow as a dark smile slowly spread across his face. "But if I were to ever make an exception, it would be for you."

Some dark, sinister feeling crept over Cassandra Fisher. She wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it was something between apprehension and foreboding. Keeping her expression carefully impassive, she inquired, "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing much," he replied. He was using that oily car salesman voice again, which was never a good sign. "Tell me, have your powers changed as of late?"

If he was going to be evasive, then so was she. "Perhaps."

He smiled, enjoying her obstinacy. "Tell me about it."

"Tell me something I want to know first."

"This game again," he sighed, referring to the give-and-take arrangement they'd made the first night they met.

"If that's what it takes to get answers out of you, so be it."

He heaved another sigh, but that dumb smile was still plastered on his face, betraying his amusement. "I can tell you that you're right about one thing: this matter strictly involves yourself, the Guardians, and me."

"So the referee part was wrong," she deduced. He chuckled deep in his chest, earning him a glare.

"My powers have changed a little," she acknowledged on a growl.

"How so?"

"Are you ever going to take the cloak back?"

"If I get my way I won't have to."

The hell did that mean?

"Well?" he prompted. He wanted her to answer his previous question.

"My shadow magic is a bit stronger."

Pitch smiled hugely. "Good."

Good?

"Your frost power is stronger too, isn't it?" he continued gleefully. "Don't try to deny it. I saw that display the other night. It was rather impressive, I must say, although I do find it a bit odd you chose to attack me using ice and snow when you clearly said you much preferred the shadows."

It hadn't occurred to her before, but what Pitch was saying was true. Why hadn't she used her shadow magic? Down here in the dark, it would certainly have been the most powerful of her gifts, and she was getting quite good at shaping things out of black nightmare sand, so why had she instinctively reached for her frost instead?

"This is wonderful," Pitch uttered, immensely self-satisfied. "You know, I've always said nothing goes together better than cold and dark."

"Don't tell me you've got a soft spot for that twiggy brat Jack Frost."

He snorted. "As if."

The words were spoken casually enough, but Cassandra saw the shadow of a scowl play across the corners of his mouth. So Pitch and Frost had some sort of history, eh?

 _How interesting._

"When this is all over," she asked the Boogeyman, "can you take that stupid cloak back? It's really creepy and gross, honestly."

She'd never gotten a clear answer from him about that. After accidentally discovering Pitch's greatest fear, Cassandra had scurried back to the duplex, wholly unwilling to stick around and find out what the Nightmare King's reaction would be once the shock of her discovery had worn off. In the following weeks, she'd lived under the assumption that he would eventually turn up to punish her for her audacity. Or, at the very least, that he would seek some sort of petty retribution for his wounded pride. But she didn't hear a single peep from the Boogeyman for a long time, and after a while she figured he was probably pouting and ignoring her, like a child. Determined to put a stop to that, she came down to the depths tonight only to discover Pitch in much the same disposition as he always was.

Did he not care that she'd uncovered what was likely a tremendous weakness? Or was he only pretending not to care?

She strongly suspected the latter.

Movement in her peripheral vision caught Cassandra's attention. Glancing around, she warily eyed the shifting silhouettes of Pitch's Nightmares. Before tonight she hadn't known Pitch to possess any mares except for Onyx, but now there were dozens of them lurking about. Their presence was doing a real ringer on her: not only were her eyes and ears straining to catch every twitch and snort and whicker, but her magic was also tremendously overwhelmed. It swelled up inside of her, threatened to burst out completely unbidden, like water from an overburdened dam, yet seemed oddly determined to tear her in two. On the one hand, her shadow magic was eager to greet those collected mares and kept trying to reach out with shadows to touch and caress them; on the other, the rest of her magic was practically screaming at her to run, run away quickly, she was in great danger.

It was weird.

Instead of answering her question, Pitch glanced in the direction she was staring and posed a question of his own. "Magnificent, aren't they?"

"Why do you have so many?"

He shrugged. "I used to have thousands, but the Guardians decimated them and turned the few that remained against me. I had to remind them who was in charge."

He glared at the Nightmares, golden eyes flashing with displeasure. Cassandra saw one of the closest mares flinch after accidentally meeting that angry stare.

"Anyway," Pitch sniffed, "this group is simply pathetic compared to the horde I used to possess. It's taken time to rebuild thanks to those wretched spirits and their _fun_."

He said the word on a hiss, as if it tasted absolutely foul. If she remembered correctly, Mr. Bennett said Jack Frost was the Guardian of Fun. Which meant Frost was the primary cause of Pitch's last defeat—and destruction of his Nightmare horde—didn't it?

 _That's definitely something to keep in mind._

But wait…if Frost was the reason he was so weak right now then why did he appreciate her frost powers? And why was he _happy_ that frost was her second greatest magical ability?

He just didn't make sense sometimes.

Redirecting the conversation back to the original topic, Cassandra asked for the third time, "So will you take it back or not?"

"If all goes well, I won't have to."

She frowned, confused. "Why not?"

"It'll simply become a moot point."

"But I thought the agreement stands until you agree to dissolve it and take back the cloak."

"It will."

"Then how can it just suddenly become irrelevant?"

He smiled down at her and said nothing.

"Something else you can't tell me?" There was an awful lot he couldn't say as of late. It was growing increasingly frustrating, not to mention annoying.

A long tendril of black nightmare sand appeared from the gloom and streamed towards them, interrupting the increasingly one-sided conversation. It swiftly converged into a solid Nightmare that screamed its report, making Cassandra's ears ring painfully.

"So," Pitch purred. "They've gone to Ikiaq."

"Where?"

He looked at her, and his smile was positively cunning. "Oh, I'm sure you'll be finding out soon enough."


	9. Harsh Truths

Welcome back everyone!

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Since you're waiting so anxiously for a solution, I sincerely hope you like the ending I have planned (even if it does take a while to get there). ;) This may sound dumb, but to me the story didn't pop right out as being a suspense fic because I've already sorted the plot out in my head so, to me, there is no suspense haha. I guess being the author does have it's downsides...it occasionally makes me a pretty bad judge of genres, so that's why I was waiting to see what you guys all thought.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Glad you liked it!

 **Momochan77:** Yes, it does kinda suck that they can't talk but it was necessary. Jamie's not completely out of the story, though, so don't you worry. Him and Sophie still have important roles to play.

Please enjoy! :D

* * *

Jack stood on the rocky shore of a tiny Nova Scotia island, his head cocked slightly to one side. Having never been to Ikiaq before in his entire existence (it wasn't exactly a place spirits just strolled into for a casual visit), he'd possessed no real knowledge as to what the realm looked like. At the very least he'd expected something dark and intimidating, possibly built with huge stone or marble walls and pillars like human courthouses often were. What he was looking at was the complete opposite.

There was no two ways about it—Ikiaq, apparently, was a wholly unremarkable red spruce tree.

 _How anticlimactic._

He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of his own thought, but shoved the reaction down hastily. The others were all stiff and grim-faced, so bursting into a fit of giggles would probably not go over too well with them. Besides, although he couldn't see any right now Jack knew the tree's countless limbs were crawling with Issitoq's Watchful Eyes. The last thing he and his friends needed was for the ancient spirit to take insult at the Guardian of Fun's private joke.

Squaring his broad shoulders, North braved the inevitable and stepped towards the tree. The others hung back, watching in silence, as he laid his palm against the cold brown trunk. Jack felt the familiar pull of magic, similar to the pull of a snow globe when he was sucked into the portal, and knew that they were about to be teleported.

 _Guess this is just the front door, then, like the broken bedframe over Pitch's place._

Upon realizing that, apprehension built within his stomach, causing a peculiar burning in the back of his throat. In the blink of an eye, the five Guardians now stood inside a massive underground hall. Unlike Pitch's realm, with its gloom and shadows and broken piles of rock, this place was immaculate, not to mention lambent. Jack was rather surprised by how easy it was to see down there, especially considering there were no visible light sources. If he had to compare it to something, Jack thought it was sort of like gazing upon late evening or early morning skies, when the sun was hidden by the horizon but the world still basked in faint remnants of light.

Neither bright nor dark, neither hidden nor resplendent, neither beginning nor ending.

Perfectly neutral. That was Ikiaq.

Curling tree roots served both as impressive embellishment and structural support for the rich, dark earth ceiling. Earthen walls were packed smooth, interrupted only occasionally by decorative polished stones, each of which was intricately carved in a language that Jack didn't recognize. The place was eerily quiet, and presumably empty apart from the newly arrived spirits, yet Jack couldn't shake the feeling that they were being carefully watched.

A single path lay before them, and the Guardians followed it. It sloped gently downward, pulling them deeper and deeper under the earth. After a few minutes of tense quiet, the frost spirit discretely wiped his palms against his pants. They weren't in trouble, he kept reminding himself. Not yet, at least. Sandy just wanted to confirm or refute his suspicions about the kid's magic, that's all.

 _So why do I feel like this is a very, very bad idea?_

Desperate to lighten the mood, he reached forward and gently plucked at the blue-gray fur between Bunnymund's shoulders. The Pooka, as expected, jumped about a foot in the air before pinning the frost spirit with a glare that could've melted stone.

"Sorry," Jack said with a grin. "You looked so stiff I just couldn't help myself."

He was not the least bit apologetic, and Bunny knew it. The Guardian of Hope lifted one paw and pointed a furry finger at him.

"Watch yourself," he warned. From the huff in his voice, it was clear he was struggling to keep hold of both the volume and his temper.

"Won't have to," Jack noted grimly, ice-blue eyes fixed upon something just over Bunny's shoulder. That prickly feeling of being watched he'd been getting? Turned out those decorative rocks he'd been curiously eyeing weren't rocks at all. They were the lids of enormous violet eyes that slid open as the Guardians approached, stared unblinkingly at them as they passed, and dropped soundlessly shut again once they were out of sight.

It was horribly creepy, having so many faceless, emotionless orbs watching them. Jack had to suppress a shudder, and he wasn't the only one.

As they walked, Bunny muttered, "I've never liked this place." He flinched when yet another eye opened up right next to him.

"Stick close, they might bite," Jack advised playfully.

"Shut up."

"Hush you two," Tooth shushed. Both spirits wisely obeyed and shut their mouths. Now wasn't the time for playful banter, even if it had succeeded in making Jack feel a little better.

With North and Sandy leading the way, the Guardians eventually found themselves standing before a massive root, one that was easily four or five times the size of a yeti. Jack assumed it was meant to serve as some sort of door and received confirmation of such when North lifted a hand to touch it, much as he had done to the tree outside. Before the big man could make contact, however, there was a sudden crack of old wood that made all five of them flinch. A puff of dust and dirt gathered around their feet as a long, low groan resounded and the ancient tree root moved aside, allowing the Guardians passage into whatever hell awaited them. Seeing the stark blackness that lay beyond the entrance, Jack swallowed thickly. This had to be where Issitoq resided, where he held his trials and pronounced his judgments. His nerves returned in force, but he dutifully trailed after the others as they filed inside.

The heart of Ikiaq positively throbbed with power. Jack could neither see nor hear Issitoq at the moment, yet he could _feel_ his presence, the ancient spirit's immense aura filling every particle of earth and space until the very air seemed thick and heavy. The only available light was the little patch that streamed in through the open doorway, and that wasn't a whole lot to start with. But even so, Jack could tell Issitoq's judgment hall was absolutely enormous. That one space could have easily swallowed Pitch's room full of black cages two or three times over. North and the others stopped, so Jack did too, right on the very edge of a precipice that dropped steeply into bottomless darkness. His stomach tightened into a hard knot. Even though he could fly and, thus, heights didn't really bother him, Jack found it incredibly unnerving to be standing so close to that void. He was fairly certain that was the place to which Issitoq banished the most vile and corrupt of spirits; he couldn't even begin to comprehend what sort of wretched fate awaited the condemned down there in the depths, and he didn't want to try.

Standing out in the open as they were, the Guardians felt exposed, condemned, dirty, like they had just been brought before the judge's bench and were about to stand trial. None of them spoke—they didn't dare until Issitoq addressed them first—and it took Jack a moment to realize North and the others were all staring up towards the ceiling. He, too, raised his head to look, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he finally noticed they were not alone.

Far above their heads, the earthen ceiling positively swarmed with spirits. Thousands upon thousands of Eyes blinked open and shut, swiveled this way and that as they observed the room, fluttered clumsily through the air on tiny bat wings, crawled like insects all over the ceiling and various roots that intersected it. It was absolutely sickening to watch, and yet Jack found himself wholly incapable of tearing his eyes away.

It was the most horribly fascinating thing he had ever seen.

Hanging down from the ceiling towards the center of the room, like some sort of grotesque chandelier, was a tangled web of spruce tree roots. Not a single Eye dared approach or touch it, and Jack grew curious as to why. Interrupting his musings, a familiar rumbling filled the Guardians' ears, and the mass began to shift. Eyes scattered like startled roaches as the gnarled roots slowly unfurled like a disgusting, colorless flower. With the groan of an ancient tree toppling over in the distant woods, a voice resounded from the blackness.

"You have come to me, Guardians of Childhood, without summons. I trust you have good reason."

Tiny yet immeasurably brave, Sandy took a step forward. His golden feet brushed the lip of the precipice as he formally addressed the ancient spirit with his yellow sand symbols. When he was finished, the voice spoke again.

"Yes." The word was uttered slowly, the S at the end drawn out like a snake's hiss. "The human Cassandra Fisher. I suspected this would be about her."

Sandy began to say something else, but Issitoq cut him off.

"You have come seeking answers. Hmmm. A very poor start, I must say."

"Poor start for what?" Bunny muttered under his breath. He grunted when North elbowed him sharply. It was considered incredibly discourteous to speak out of turn in this place, even if one was talking to himself.

Completely ignoring Bunnymund's remark, Issitoq said, "You have already found the answer, Guardian of Dreams, yet it seems you do not believe it."

Sandy's pudgy face pulled into an expression of alarm, and his next symbols appeared too quickly for any of his friends to understand.

Issitoq and his countless Eyes, however, saw and understood clearly.

" _Mutatis Mutandis_ ," the Adjudicating Eye murmured. "'With the necessary changes having been made…'"

Upon hearing those words, Sandy drew back sharply, eyes wide and hands pressed against his chest as if to protect his heart. The other Guardians cried out in unison, but Bunny was by far the loudest.

"No!" he shouted, the faintest edge of panic in his voice. "No you can't do that!"

"It has already been done," Issitoq replied, his ancient, impassive voice sounding almost bored as he uttered those devastating words.

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Bunny's heavy accent echoed deafeningly against the cavernous walls. In the wake of such horrifying news, all thought of proper conduct and respect had flown right out the window. Emerald eyes swam with unshed tears, but the Pooka stubbornly blinked them back. "You can't do that to us!" he insisted. "It ain't fair!"

"We haven't done anything wrong!" Tooth Fairy wailed. Unlike Bunnymund, she had no qualms about crying openly in front of Issitoq.

"No spirit is perfect," the Adjudicating Eye chided her. One thin, gnarled root descended from the ceiling to point right into Tooth's face. "You yourself uttered thus this very night so do not pretend you do not understand."

Harshly reminded of her all-too-recent conversation with Jack, Tooth flinched under Issitoq's rebuke. Her wings appeared to lose all their strength and she dropped to her knees on the dry dirt, arms hugged tight around her own body. She broke into helpless sobs, her three little attendant fairies likewise weeping as they perched on her shoulder and clutched each other.

Not one to give up so easily, Bunny continued to argue. "Even if we ain't perfect, you can't throw us down like a bunch of animals! You're putting us on the same level as Pitch for Moon's sake!"

For the Pooka, of all spirits, to talk about being compared to animals would've been absolutely hilarious had Jack not been struggling through a fierce internal battle. Quite frankly, he didn't know if he wanted to break into tears like Tooth, shout in defiance like Bunny, or fly away like a cowardly sprite and hide some place where he could hopefully forget about this living nightmare.

The tendril of root pulled sharply away from the Guardians. Issitoq's disgust with Bunnymund's defiance was more than apparent, even before he spoke.

"I do what I must, foolish spirit!" His harsh tone made even the fierce Pooka cringe. "A great tragedy has befallen this world, and I will stand for it no longer! _Mutatis Mutandis._ It is the only way to set things right again!"

"But it just ain't fair!" Bunny cried almost petulantly. "That means the only one safe is North!"

The Russian looked absolutely devastated. His mouth opened and closed several times as he struggled to come up with something supportive to say, but nothing that came to mind seemed even remotely adequate. His typically jolly red face was awash with anguish for his friends, blue eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears.

"Your hearts have been judged," Issitoq coolly replied. "That you have been found unworthy is not of my own doing. Pitch Black knows this and has accepted it. For you to contest this when he has not, quite frankly, sickens me."

"The only reason he's not contesting anything is 'cause he knows Fisher isn't gonna pick him!" Jack yelled. He felt horribly sick to his stomach, and his hands clutched so tightly to his staff he feared he'd snap it in two, yet he just couldn't bring himself to let go. Forget losing believers, forget being invisible or disappearing forever…this was by far the _worst_ thing that could ever possibly happen to a spirit.

 _Oh, Moon, what are we gonna do?!_

"Even if you say we deserve it, this ain't how it's supposed to be!" Bunny argued. "Pitch has known her for weeks! He's had the chance to poison her mind against us and has even bonded with her! He has an unfair advantage!"

"All has been done in proper accordance!" Issitoq sounded truly furious that the Pooka would dare accuse _him_ , the very spirit of justice and law, of being unfair. The knot of roots above their heads twisted and writhed like a tangled ball of incensed snakes. "Neither the Guardians nor the Nightmare King had unfair advantage—no one knew the rite was to be invoked therefore all participants had equal opportunity to happen upon the child. If anything," he continued, his voice dropping into a deep baritone that echoed around the room like an earthquake's rumble, "Pitch Black was the one disadvantaged. He is but one spirit—you Guardians are five, and you bask freely in Moon's guiding light. Despite my every effort to maintain perfect balance in this matter, the odds were clearly to your favor. That the banished Nightmare King discovered the human first is naught but a coincidence. As for his actions subsequent to meeting her…disheartening though they may be, he has not committed any crimes."

Completely out of logical arguments, Bunny too sank to the ground. He hunkered there beside Tooth Fairy and shook uncontrollably, arms wrapped tightly around his body as he struggled not to hyperventilate. The truth was really hitting him now, and it was hitting him hard. There was no escaping this, no talking their way out or begging for reprieve. With _Mutatis Mutandis,_ there were no second chances. Once those wretched doors were opened, there was absolutely no stopping the unforgiving wheels of fate until the matter was completely settled, for better or for worse.

"Please…" North—big, loud-mouthed, fearless North—stepped forward and planted himself firmly between Issitoq and his fellow Guardians, as if his presence alone would be enough to protect them from the horrid fate they all faced. He held out his large hands as he implored in a voice choked with tears, "Please… There must be way to stop this. If we have been wrong, maybe there's some other way we can prove our worth to you…"

"This is not a matter of proving worthiness or unworthiness." The anger had finally faded from Issitoq's voice, leaving the spirit with his customary impassive tone. "If it were so simple, I could have easily dispensed judgment on my own." One of the larger roots swayed, rising and falling like crests of a wave; it seemed to Jack as if the ancient spirit was trying to soothe some of the sting carried by his earlier words. "Understand, Guardians, that I find no pleasure in invoking this rite and that I have not done so lightly. This matter is inconceivably complicated— _Mutatis Mutandis_ is the only viable means for me to see justice done."

Jack couldn't understand that at all. _Mutatis Mutandis_ was so final, so overwhelmingly devastating…how could it possibly solve _anything_ , let alone a problem so complex that even the great Adjudicating Eye, with all his knowledge and power, had to stoop to such a remedy? For Moon's sake, that was like trying to repair a cracked china dish with a sledgehammer! Surely there were better solutions!

North's thoughts seemed to be following along the same line as Jack's. "Tell us what problem is," he offered. "Perhaps we can—"

" **NO**!"

The word echoed around them like a boom of thunder. Jack clapped his hands over his ears, nearly dropping his staff in the process, and turned his face away as a shower of dust and pebbles rained down upon the Guardians' heads and shoulders. Those roots were writhing again, exuding a peculiar combination of frustration and wrath.

"No," Issitoq repeated, quieter this time but just as firmly. "You know the rules, and the rules must be strictly followed. To explain my intentions would ruin everything!"

Cowed by the ancient spirit's anger, North muttered, "Apologies. I forgot."

The roots stretched out towards them, as if Issitoq were about to say something else, but then pulled away again. They wove themselves back into that tangled, disgusting ball that hung from the ceiling.

"You know the path you now walk, Guardians of Childhood." The words were calm and collected as they echoed lightly throughout the vast chamber. "Take care that this tribulation does not destroy you."

With that said, the last tendril of root grew still, the rumbling stopped, and all of Ikiaq fell silent. Highly distressed, but clearly dismissed, the Guardians took their leave.

* * *

Jack shifted slightly, staring fixedly as his feet. He wanted desperately to say something, some stupid joke or ridiculously lame comment to break the unbearably awkward silence, but his mind was drawing a complete blank. Besides, even if something had come to him, he wouldn't have been able to say it aloud. His throat felt constricted, as if someone had hold of it and was pressing relentlessly against his trachea; trying to be funny in a moment like this would be like a slap right in the face, not only to his friends but to Jack himself.

The Guardians had left Ikiaq in silence, taken a snow globe back to the Pole, and now stood huddled beneath the enormous spinning globe. Nearly an hour passed without a single word uttered between them, each spirit lost within their own disheartening thoughts. For his part, only one thing kept circulating through Jack's mind, over and over like some sick, depleted mantra:

 _Why…?_

 _Why?_

 _Why?!_

If only he could understand, maybe things wouldn't be so bad. But he didn't understand, and none of his friends could, either. That was, perhaps, one of the worst things about _Mutatis Mutandis_ —knowing what was going to happen but not knowing _why_ it was happening until it was all over.

Not knowing made the inevitable end so much harder to bear.

Right now, the only thing that made any sense to Jack was Pitch Black's recent conduct. Even the frost spirit, who was usually the last to get these sorts of things, could clearly see that the Boogeyman had played them all spectacularly. They'd been so worked up over his forced bond with Cassandra Fisher and so consumed with worry over his ability to file grievances, not one of them had realized that the truth of the matter was actually quite simple:

Pitch hadn't manipulated the kid so as to take advantage of her magic; he'd done it to level the field. A successful invocation of _Mutatis Mutandis_ was hinged on a single essential rule: no participating spirit could have significant advantage over the others. Issitoq had commented that, in spite of his best efforts, there remained a natural imbalance between the two sides and that Pitch Black was on the losing side of that inequity. Loath as he was to admit it, Jack knew the Adjudicating Eye was right. Because they were all from the same group, the Guardians had the benefit of numbers, and their alliance with Moon granted them the ability to move freely about the world, quite unlike the ever-hunted and hated Pitch Black. Furthermore, their natural affinity to love and be loved by kids meant they were far more likely to win the kid's favor than the sinister and egotistical Nightmare King.

 _But she hates us. Except for Sandy, she genuinely hates us._

Thinking about it now, Jack was sickened by the realization that the Guardians had foolishly and ignorantly squandered an early lead. To make matters even worse, it was now very apparent that Pitch hadn't been lying about Jamie. He hadn't needed to do anything to the man—Issitoq had acted entirely on his own to preserve the impartiality of the impending decision. In trying to protect Cassandra Fisher by getting her away from Pitch, they'd not only pushed her further away from them and closer to him, they'd unintentionally sucked poor Jamie Bennett down into the twisted labyrinth with them.

 _And until this is over, we can't explain to him why or even tell him we're sorry…_

While the Nightmare King's safety was pretty much assured from the beginning thanks to Fisher's obvious contempt for the Guardians, Pitch wasn't the sort to settle for anything less than a guarantee. If a situation wasn't wholly to his favor, he would make it so, just as he had used petty tricks and underhanded tactics to gain the upper hand during his last attack. In that sense, tricking Fisher into accepting the cloak was little more than an insurance policy. With the threat of grievances now hanging over their heads, the Boogeyman could rest assured that his enemies no longer had the advantage.

As Bunny had so aptly put it many, many nights ago, Pitch had essentially cut off their hands, which at this point was absolutely crippling.

Tooth's soft, dejected voice eventually broke through the haze in Jack's ears, drawing him back into the wretched world of the present.

"We need to talk about this." The whispered words were barely audible, even in the silence.

"About what?" Jack mumbled miserably. "There's nothing to talk about. It's not up to us anymore."

"We can't give up, mate," Bunnymund quietly informed him, but he didn't look (or sound) convinced of his own statement. In fact, he appeared just as dejected and hopeless as Jack felt. "There's gotta be a way. We've always managed before. Like with that mess with Pitch, you pulled us outta that all right with only one believer left."

Jack shrugged away the words as if they didn't matter, but said nothing because, deep down, he knew the Pooka had a point.

With his symbols, Sandy told them, _Let's look at this logically._

"Yes," North concurred in a low rumble. "Decide who is most vulnerable, and think how to protect them."

Jack cringed at the prospect, but obligingly pointed out, "Whoever's power presents most strongly is considered the likeliest choice."

"That would be Pitch," Bunnymund murmured. "But we all know she ain't gonna pick him."

"She clearly prefers the shadows over all her other gifts," Tooth reminded him.

"And he has not treated her too well," North added. "Tricking her into bond made her angry, no? She hates being used, that is very clear."

"Yeah, but even if she don't like him or what he did, she still prefers him to us." Bunny shifted restlessly, his large feet sliding across the polished floor as he struggled to stay calm. "We didn't exactly give her a warm welcome, did we?"

An uncomfortable silence fell over them for a time.

"Tooth's probably safe," Jack finally put in, waving weakly to indicate the fairy. "She hasn't felt the urge to collect teeth in a long time, right?"

Tooth nodded an affirmation. Her large eyes were very sad as she regarded the frost spirit. "Cassandra probably won't pick Sandy, either." When Sandman looked surprised to hear that, she explained in a low voice, "Even though you're one of us, she holds some respect for you and your magic and admires your dream-weaving." Her whole body seemed to wilt as realization dawned on her. "That means…"

With tears in her eyes, she turned her amethyst gaze upon Jack and Bunnymund. Unable to bear the pitying looks from his friends, Jack summoned the wind and sped off to find some dark, empty corner in which he could curl up alone.

Unbeknownst to him, Bunnymund fled the globe room moments afterward.

* * *

The three Guardians left Jack and Bunnymund alone for quite some time. It just didn't seem right to bother them, not when they were struggling to come to terms with what was inevitably going to happen to one of them. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but nobody seemed to know what to do about it, and that was surely a bitter, bitter pill to swallow. Giving them a bit of space only seemed appropriate, all things considered.

After a while, though, Tooth Fairy thrust aside her anxiety and went looking for them. It was one thing to offer adequate time to think and process, but she certainly wasn't about to let either Jack or Bunny get it into their head that they were in this alone. Someone had to talk to them, comfort them, and make it clear that the rest of the group would support them in any way they could. North and Sandy each were wise in their own way, but neither of them was quite right for this sort of thing, and they knew it. The Russian was bold and loud, oftentimes tactless without meaning to be, whereas Sandy had the opposite problem. His quiet, reserved nature and reliance on symbols for communication could lead to misunderstandings, and that was the very last thing Jack or Bunny needed right now.

So, by simple process of elimination, that left Toothiana. Of course, her hyperactivity could be overwhelming at times, but she could certainly tone it down when she needed to. This wasn't the first time she'd calmly and rationally approached a problem within the group; hadn't she offered advice to Jack just last night?

She cringed, unfortunately reminded of how Issitoq had thrown that conversation right back into her face. Tooth had no idea how the spirit of justice and law could've known what she'd said, but when it came down to it, it didn't really matter. Right now she had to focus on Jack and Bunny, on offering the support they desperately needed, otherwise the two incredibly sensitive spirits would slide down into the horrible, endless depths of despair.

By pure coincidence, she found Bunnymund first. He was sequestered in one of the spare sleeping quarters, clutching at his ears as he crouched in the corner, quivering from head to toe. As she pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, Tooth thought she heard deep, ragged breaths, as if the Pooka was struggling not to cry.

"Hey, Bunny," she murmured, flitting across the room. She landed lightly at his side and reached out a hand to lay it comfortingly on his shoulder.

The Pooka drew a shaking breath. "How can he do this?" His voice was barely a whisper, cracked and broken. "How can he do this? What could have possibly happened for this to be necessary?"

Not since Easter had been lost and a child walked through him had Tooth seen the Guardian of Hope look so despondent. She wanted to cry for him but knew her tears would do him no good, so she blinked her eyes to keep them at bay.

"I don't know," she replied quietly. She ran her fingers gently through the fur of his shoulder in an effort to soothe him. "I wish I did. We all do. Oh, Bunny, you know none of us want this for you or for Jack."

He glanced at her. The fur of his face was dry, so he hadn't been crying, but his emerald eyes looked…lost. So very lost. "You know what's going to happen," he whispered. "You know who it's gonna be."

She sensed where he was going with this, and tensed. "No, Bunny, no."

"It only makes sense, don't it?" His voice grew hard, and he uttered a short, bitter, incredibly self-deprecating laugh. Tooth cringed to hear it. "Can you imagine that kid trying to be _fun_? Nah." He shook his head. "A background like hers only makes sense. Who better to give kids hope than someone who knows what hopelessness and loneliness feels like?"

"Don't say that."

"You know it's true! Me and Jack, we ain't even on the same level. Look at everything he's done, take a real good look, then compare that to me." He shook his head again, harder this time. "Between the two of us, it's obvious who deserves to get picked. The decision's practically been made already!"

Tooth retracted her hand sharply. "Don't say that!" she scolded. The passionate anger in her voice left the Pooka staring. "Don't you dare give up, E. Aster Bunnymund! Just because you two are the most likely choices doesn't mean your fate is inevitable! There's always the chance it could be me or Sandy, maybe even Pitch! Until Cassandra decides nothing is certain, so don't you dare crawl into a hole and surrender! That is not what a Guardian does, that's not what the Guardian of _Hope_ does, and I sure hope that's not what a Pooka does at the first sign of trouble!"

Bunny's fur stood on end, emerald eyes flashed. "Of course it ain't!" He hated it when spirits made fun of him for being a Pooka, almost as much as he hated being compared to a kangaroo.

"Then stop feeling sorry for yourself. Cowering in a corner does nothing for you or for Jack."

The Pooka straightened a little at the mention of the frost spirit. "I gotta find him." He needed to talk to Jack, right now, before the sensitive frost spirit got it into his head that—

As he turned towards the door, Bunny spotted something deeply foreboding: a patch of frost, fresh and slick, stretching across the room from the door, which was still partly open from when Tooth had come in.

"Jack?"

Bunny bounded out into the corridor, but there was no Jack in sight. Spread all over the floor and across the heavy wooden door was a thick layer of ice.

 _Oh no._

"Jack!"

He leapt down the hall, yelling desperately for his friend. Jack had clearly come looking for him, probably to discuss what was happening in the hope of gaining some semblance of comfort, and had overheard him and Tooth talking. For him to take off so suddenly, for him to get so upset that his frost spread uninhibited, he must've overheard only a part of what Bunnymund had said, and…

"' _Me and Jack, we ain't even on the same level. Look at everything he's done, take a real good look, then compare that to me. Between the two of us, it's obvious who deserves to get picked.'"_

…and horribly misunderstood.

"Jack!"

He was nowhere inside the workshop. Yetis eyed him curiously as he streaked through the corridors, throwing open doors without care for the noise he made or possible holes he left in ancient walls. He had to find him. He had to find him quickly and explain.

" _Jack_!"

Outside the workshop, a snowstorm was brewing. It was springtime in the northern hemisphere—the pole was usually calm and sunny this time of year. For a storm to be gathering now there was only one possible cause.

Without a care for the bitter cold and icy wind, Bunny threw open a window and leapt out into the snow. His desperate calls were lost to the squall, the young spirit's name blown right back into his face no matter how many times he shouted it.


	10. Choices

Author's Note:

Welcome new readers and followers, and welcome back to all the old ones too. I was gonna post this last night but, unfortunately, life happened so I'm posting it first thing this morning instead. :)

Now, I don't normally combine review responses since I like to answer each person's thoughts individually (it makes it more personal that way, in my mind) but since several of you had the same comments and questions, I figured it was okay to make an exception this time so I'm not repeating myself.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown** , **starthedetective** , **Momochan77** : It's okay if you're a bit confused as to what being "picked" means, as I'm sure many others are as well. It may be frustrating or baffling for the topic to be so unclear right now, but I did write it this way on purpose. There were several clues offered in the chapter so you could figure it out if you paid close attention, but if you didn't get it that's okay. Starting from this chapter you'll get far more (and more obvious) hints as to what getting picked entails so you don't have to go back and cross-examine the last chapter if you don't want to. You'll also get a detailed discussion of what _Mutatis Mutandis_ is pretty soon because, you know, somebody eventually has to tell Cassandra what's going on.

 **WinterCrystal1009** : Yep, definitely going downhill fast. And it's going to get worse, so prepare yourself.

 **Scarletknight17:** Hello! It's always wonderful to hear from someone new. :D I was also rather intrigued by your comment because it touches on several interesting factors. I have to say that when I first sat down to plot out this fic, I did seriously consider having a time skip so that Cassandra could age up to about 17, 18 ish. In the end, I decided not to do that and for several reasons: Primarily, I chose to keep her the age she is because a large portion of the plot hinges on the fact that she is a child. If she were 18 she wouldn't be a minor, so there wouldn't be any issues with her family as she could just leave home whenever she wanted to. This would not only make tracking her on the spirits' end more difficult, which was briefly mentioned after Bunny first found her in Burgess, it would completely eliminate any need for her dad or Carol or even Barb to be part of the story. There's also the fact that, because she is a child, the Guardians cannot hurt her even though she's technically (sorta kinda) on Pitch's side, nor can they just up and leave her to her own devices because they're sworn to protect children regardless of the circumstances. If she were 17 or 18, this wouldn't be the case and so it would've significantly reduced the effect Pitch's trick with the cloak had on the Guardians. They could've just said 'well, that was horrible of him and stupid of you, and kinda gross, but to each their own' and left it at that. You also mentioned her being naïve because she's so young, and that's the second reason why I chose to keep her the age she is. You're absolutely right in that an older, more experienced person wouldn't be that way, but her occasional youthful ignorance has had a tremendous effect on how things have progressed thus far and will continue to effect what happens to everyone involved. I can tell you that her youth _is_ a point that gets discussed later on, but for the sake of **WinterCrystal1009** , who's been dying for answers, I won't say any more than that so I don't get accused of hypocrisy. ;)

Speaking of age…Cassandra's birthday is at the end of March and they celebrated Easter already in the story, which means she had her twelfth birthday and _none of you noticed_! :'( I know, I know, I didn't mention it in the story either, but that was sort of the point. She doesn't really care about it and nobody else does either (Barb doesn't know when her birthday is, so forgive her please), which just adds another layer to both her character and her complex family life…or lack thereof.

Finally, let me just apologize in advance to **Momochan77**. You've mentioned twice now that you love Bunny, and as soon as I read your comments I thought "well, poop, you're gonna hate me now". Please don't hurt me too much for what I'm about to do. *hides*

Anyway, please enjoy and I always love reading reviews so leave one if you can.

* * *

By the time he reached Burgess, Jack had managed to calm down a bit and reign in his magic. In the long, lonely fly across Canada, he'd had plenty of time to quiet his thoughts, though they still pained him considerably. There were no more storms now, no more blinding ice showers or deafening gusts of wind. Now he was in control, just as he needed to be. If he was going to do this, and do this right, he had to be completely logical.

So Bunny thought the choice was obvious… Tears pricked at his eyes, but Jack blinked them away. He'd started to think that maybe he and the Pooka were alike, that there was some deeper bond between them even if neither of them could or ever would acknowledge it, but it turned out he was completely wrong. How stupid and naïve of him to think that he could possibly measure up to the other Guardians. Him: the one who always messed everything up, who always caused trouble and made the simplest of tasks more difficult for everybody. So he'd helped stop Pitch once. Big deal. After all the problems he'd created in the past (not to mention all the ones he continued to cause) that one success was nothing. So he'd gotten Jamie to believe in the Guardians right when he was about to throw away his faith. Who cared? Whole lot of help that did anyone—Jamie was now tangled up in this mess just as terribly as the rest of them. And what was Bunny? Only the Guardian of Hope, hope being the one thing all humans and spirits needed to survive. Life would be incredibly boring without fun, but no one had ever died from boredom. The world had managed to keep on turning all those years he remained invisible, hadn't it?

"' _Look at everything he's done, take a real good look, then compare that to me. Between the two of us, it's obvious who deserves to get picked._ '"

Jack felt his heart twist painfully inside his chest. Yes. The choice was obvious, wasn't it? Compared to Bunny and his accomplishments, young, foolish, mischievous Jack Frost was practically nothing.

Besides, he'd said it himself, hadn't he? Jack had said with his very own mouth that the powers that presented most strongly represented the spirits most likely to get picked. And which of Cassandra Fisher's powers were strongest? Which two magical gifts did she favor most?

Shadows and frost.

 _I can't believe it's down to me and Pitch…again…_

It was so horribly ironic, Jack almost wanted to laugh. It was like the showdown from twenty years ago all over again, only this time it wasn't a direct standoff between the Nightmare King and the eternal white-haired teenager. This time it was a battle of wits, stubbornness and sheer dumb luck, and Jack knew from personal experience that, on his own, he was completely outmatched by the wicked and cunning Boogeyman.

 _And I can't even explain to Fisher what's going on in order to plead my case,_ he thought miserably, staring down at passing rooftops without really seeing them. _The rules dictate only Issitoq is allowed to explain to the arbiter about the rite, otherwise there's a risk of passing on unintentional bias through the participant's choice of words, personal sentiments, body language…_

Damn…this was so unbelievably complicated. _Mutatis Mutandis_ was complicated, and he still didn't even know _why._ If only he knew why, maybe the truth would be easier to bear. Issitoq had said this was all about correcting a great tragedy, some terrible thing that had apparently been going on for quite some time and couldn't be solved any other way. Jack could think of a couple of scenarios that might make him _okay_ with his present situation, like if it was for the good of the kids or something, but right now he didn't have a single clue as to what Issitoq's intentions were. That made coming to terms with his current position next to impossible.

He needed to talk to someone so badly, but right now Jack didn't have anybody. North and Jamie were his usual confidants, but neither of them could help this time. Jamie literally couldn't thanks to Issitoq's magic, and North… Well, the big man might be more understanding than the other Guardians since he was safe, but as he considered it Jack realized talking to the Russian would be pointless. It would only upset the both of them needlessly. North might hold a soft spot for Jack in a father-son sort of way, but the Guardian of Wonder had known Bunnymund much, much longer than he had the frost spirit and, therefore, would likely feel obligated to stand up for the Pooka at Jack's inevitable expense.

No…Jack was completely on his own in this.

 _And I know just what to do._

Setting his jaw with grim determination, Jack headed straight for Cassandra Fisher's house. The girl was in the living room, and Jack clambered through the window without prelude, causing her to jump.

"Dammit, Frost, what do you want?" she hissed.

"You alone?"

"So what if I am? I don't want to talk to you."

"Then don't talk. Just listen."

A frown touched the thin line of her mouth. Clearly she was both curious and confused as to why the frost spirit had shown up alone, looking rather the worse for wear and sounding far more sharp-tongued than his usual carefree self. She didn't look the least bit interested in what Jack had to say, yet she crossed her arms and stared hard at him, saying nothing. He took that as a silent invitation to continue and wasted no more time getting to the point.

"I want you to pick me."

"Huh?"

"Pretty soon, probably in the next couple of weeks, you're going to be asked to make a decision. A very big decision. I can't tell you what it is or why you have to do it, but you'll have to, and I want you to promise me that when the time comes, you'll pick me."

Fisher's usually well-guarded expression fell quite a bit as she tried to sort out what he was telling her. Her lips parted almost imperceptibly as her jaw slackened, so lost was she in her ruminations.

"Is this about what's going on between you Guardians and Pitch Black?" she inquired at last.

"Yes."

"I have to make a decision about you guys…"

"Yes."

"…which includes my picking one of you for something, but you can't tell me what it is or why I have to do it."

"Yes!" Jack was growing increasingly impatient. There was a pretty good chance Tooth or one of the others might be looking for him; he couldn't risk getting caught here in Fisher's house, or they'd guess what he was up to and move to put a stop to it, if only because their brief friendship caused them to feel some lingering dregs of pity for the frost spirit.

Her frown became more pronounced. "Why aren't you asking me to pick Pitch? He's your enemy."

"If it came down to me and Pitch, would you pick him over me?"

"I don't even know what the hell I'm picking you for!"

"Anything!" Jack was growing more and more desperate as the seconds ticked by. He had to get out of here, fast, but only if she promised. Changing tactics a bit, he offered, "Look, between Pitch and me, who do you like more? Who can you tolerate?"

"At the moment both of you are getting on my damned nerves."

"Just tell me!"

Fisher quirked a brow at his snappish tone. Jack didn't know if she could sense his underlying fear and anxiety—that _was_ one of Pitch's gifts, after all, not to mention the girl had remarkable perception when it came to reading people—but sincerely hoped she couldn't. That would only lead to a whole series of incredibly difficult and uncomfortable questions.

"I don't hold either one of you in particularly high regard," she said, choosing her words carefully, "but if it came down to necessity, yes, I suppose I'd prefer him to you. He irritates me and is incredibly self-serving, but I can at least tolerate being in his presence."

Jack drew a breath, let it out sharply. Struggling not to show his tears, he told her as tonelessly as he could manage, "Then pick me."

"So getting picked _is_ a bad thing."

"I can't tell you about that. Just promise you'll pick me, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises until I know for sure what I'm supposed to do!" Her cheeks were tinged the slightest shade of pink, signaling her growing irritation and frustration. "I _hate_ that everyone else knows what's going on but I don't!"

"Issitoq will explain in time. But please, Cassandra, when the time comes for your answer I want you to pick me. I _need_ you to pick me."

He didn't realize what he just said until her gaze shifted, carefully considering every last detail of his expression and bearing. It was a moment before she spoke.

"If it's so bad, why do you want to get picked?" she asked, quiet and suspicious.

"I—"

Jack struggled for words, but found none that would prove sufficient and still keep within the strict boundaries of _Mutatis Mutandis_ code. Issitoq was the only one who could explain, the only one…

He sighed, his head dropping until it hung limply from his neck. He stared at the floor, clutching his staff tight for strength and support.

"Believe me, I have my reasons," he said quietly. "I can't tell you why, but I think you'll understand once Issitoq explains."

"Who's Issitoq?"

"The Great Adjudicating Eye. The spirit of justice and law."

For a heartbeat of time, there was silence. Then: "So this is really serious."

"Yes."

"And you want me to pick you, no matter what?"

"Yes." His head lifted again so he could meet those intelligent brown eyes. "Don't worry. I'm fairly certain you'll be okay with the decision once you know what's going on."

Fisher let out a breath in a short huff. Running her fingers through her hair, she mumbled, "I'm not making any promises, Frost, especially not to _you_. But I'm not saying I won't do it, either. I won't be called a liar if circumstances happen to fall that way."

"So you'll consider it?"

"I suppose."

A sickening mixture of relief and despair coursed through him, burning his stomach and throat. But Jack pushed through the painful emotions and smiled brightly. "Thanks kid."

"Just shut up and go away. My dad's gonna be home soon."

Satisfied that he'd done everything he could to protect his friends, Jack climbed back out the window and soared off, hoping to find some peace and comfort in the solitude of his favorite mountaintop.

He had no idea Bunny arrived soon after his departure.

* * *

Bunnymund was exhausted, but he stubbornly refused to slow down or rest. It had been nearly two hours since his conversation with Tooth, and he hadn't stopped running in all that time. His aching feet carried him along the tunnel network, making quick work of his journey to Burgess. Upon realizing that Jack had fled the Pole, the Pooka wasted precious time scouring every place he could think of where the nomadic frost spirit liked to hide. He'd opened nearly a dozen holes and searched numerous caves and towns before he finally realized the error of his thinking.

 _He ain't gonna go someplace to hide; he already tried that back at North's. Nah, he's gonna try and fix the problem, one way or another._

The name hit him like a crack of a whip. Burgess. Jack had gone to Burgess to talk to Fisher, and only Moon knew if he bumped into trouble along the way. It would be just like Pitch to slink out of the shadows right when everyone was feeling vulnerable. He'd already done that once with Jack, hadn't he, back in Antarctica more than twenty years ago. Alone and in his current state of mind, the frost spirit would be helpless if he happened upon the wretched little shadow-skulker.

 _Great! Just great!_

In his haste to reach his friend, Bunnymund accidentally opened the tunnel exit in Burgess' town park. He didn't even realize the error until he sprung from the hole only to find himself surrounded by trees. Snarling out a curse, he dropped to all fours and sprinted as fast as he could, keeping a sharp nose out for Jack's scent along the way. If he was lucky, he could catch the young Guardian either on his way to or from the ankle biter's place.

 _Then I can explain everything and talk some sense into that thick head of his before he goes and does something stupid!_

It was just a few more blocks to the kid's duplex when a Nightmare appeared screaming from the shadows.

Skidding to a halt, Bunnymund snatched up his boomerangs and made to let fly…but stopped himself just in time. All around him dozens upon dozens of Nightmares were emerging, circling the Guardian but strangely not attacking. He turned in tight circles, not wanting to miss a single thing and hating that, at any given point, he had to present his back to at least some of them. It was impossible to face down so many when he was alone.

A voice, silky and dark and aggravatingly familiar, sounded from the dark.

"My, my, what have we here?" Pitch chuckled as he came into view. Sitting astride Onyx, he stared down at the Pooka with eyes that positively glowed with mirth. A wicked smile spread wide across his mouth, revealing pointed teeth. "One little Guardian, all alone…"

"Rack off Pitch!" Bunnymund snapped. "I ain't got time for games!"

"Ah, yes. Little Jack."

Bunny twitched at the sound of the frost spirit's name.

"Poor little Jack," Pitch cooed. That horrible smile spread wider still. "Rushing to the child all by himself…why, he was practically beside himself with despair." There was hardly any gold visible now, for that grin had grown to such menacing proportions the Boogeyman's eyes were reduced to the thinnest of slits. "One can only imagine what he was upset about."

Bunny was loath to take his eyes off the Nightmare King, but there was far too much going on around him for his attention to remain singularly focused. Nightmares stamped and snorted restlessly, several of them pacing in an effort to calm their bloodlust, and as the Boogeyman spoke one of them snapped ruthlessly at its neighbor, threatening to start a fight. Emerald eyes flicked to the side, distracted, as the agitated Nightmares' heads lowered and they screamed at each other, but a sharp gesture from Pitch instantly dispelled the impending violence.

 _Seems he's got them back under control,_ Bunnymund mused. _Great…_

His minions chastised, Pitch's attention returned to the Guardian once more. "So what was your plan, rabbit? Were you going to rush over there and talk Jack out of it? Were you going to _beg_ the girl not to choose him?"

"It ain't up to me who she picks," Bunnymund retorted. "But I ain't gonna let Jack sell himself off for us! It ain't right!"

"No?" Pitch shifted, one arm crossing across his body so his elbow rested against Onyx's neck as he leaned towards the Guardian. In a very soft, smooth voice, as if offering to disclose some terrible secret, he whispered, "You want to know something interesting?"

Bunny's response was sharp and honest. "No."

But Pitch answered him anyway. "Jack's fear has changed quite a bit since he became a Guardian. Before he was scared that no one would ever believe in him, that he would forever remain an invisible spirit. But now…"

He chuckled darkly. The sound echoed all around Bunnymund, filling his sensitive ears until it felt as if that terrible voice was inside his very head, mocking him and, yes, scaring him just a little bit.

"Now," Pitch continued in a contented purr, "poor Jack's biggest fear is that he won't measure up to the rest of you. That somewhere, sometime, you four will come to regret making him one of you and throw him away."

"That's ridiculous!" Bunny shouted defiantly. He gestured threateningly with his boomerangs, which were still held aloft, poised to strike. "We ain't gonna get sick of him, you hear me? Never!"

"You sound so convincing." The words were spoken as if compelled by purest honesty, but Bunnymund knew otherwise. The spirit of fear and shadow was mocking him. "Too bad poor Jack doesn't know that. Perhaps you should have saved that conviction for him."

"Get out of the way and I'll give him every ounce of conviction I've got!"

"No. No I don't think I will. I'm not through with you yet."

Bunnymund's fur instantly stood on end. Something about those words, that tone, that gleaming look in those golden eyes, told him something very, very sinister was up the Boogeyman's sleeve.

 _Bring it, you ratbag! I can take it!_

"Such bravado," Pitch acknowledged with an amused chuckle. "Too bad I can sense your fear."

"What do you want?!" Bunnymund snapped, desperate to get this game over with so he could get to Jack.

Straightening up, Pitch swung his leg over Onyx's shoulder and slid effortlessly off the Nightmare's back. Bunnymund stiffened warily, but the Boogeyman kept his distance. Hands clasped leisurely behind his back, the Nightmare King slowly circled the cornered Pooka, never taking those golden eyes off him. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, he spoke again, the words calm, easy, as if the two spirits were taking part in a casual conversation rather than an incredibly intense standoff.

"I just wanted you to know something: I don't want you to find Jack Frost. I want him to have all the time he needs."

"Why's that? Why would you want Fisher to pick him, you know damn well if any one of us goes the rest will do their damnedest to make you pay!"

"Promises of vengeance from a Guardian? How shocking."

He didn't sound shocked at all. In fact, he sounded highly amused and immensely self-satisfied. Thrilled, even. Bunnymund struggled to piece together what was going on as Pitch continued to slowly pace the circle of Nightmares.

"Of all the Guardians," he continued, "it would please me most to see Jack Frost succumb to the rite. I asked him to join me once, you know. He turned me down flat, and that has never ceased to irk me. Cold and dark is by far the best combination available on this earth. Together, it is truly unstoppable."

Understanding began to dawn upon Bunnymund. His eyes grew wide. "You planned for this," he gasped. "You _want_ Jack to get picked!"

"Do I?" Pitch cast a glance over his shoulder, just long enough for Bunnymund to glimpse his barely contained mirth. "Why ever would I want that?"

"For revenge! You get back at Jack for siding with us instead of you, and—" His stomach lurched painfully. In the wake of that sensation, his boomerangs quivered.

"And what, little rabbit?" Pitch breathed, coaxing the Guardian to finish his thought.

"And with Fisher in our group," he rasped, throat painfully tight, "you'll have an insider. A spy. A saboteur. You fostered her hate and our suspicions knowing we'd come to detest each other, guaranteeing her alliance with you."

"And it all came tumbling down," Pitch murmured wistfully. His face was turned towards the sky as he eyed the rising moon. "Wonderful, is it not, old friend?" Clearly he wasn't addressing the Pooka anymore. "Issitoq intended to help but _I_ intend to ruin everything!"

"He won't stand for that," Bunny uttered, meaning the Adjudicating Eye. "The world _needs_ us Pitch! You can't expect humans to survive without light or hope or dreams. Without that…without us…they'll have no reason to keep living. They'll kill each other. They'll kill _themselves!_ "

"And fear will reign uninhibited. What a spectacular thought."

"Issitoq will stop you!"

"He hasn't stopped me yet," Pitch gleefully pointed out. "What makes you think he ever will?"

"This ain't right…" In his shock and growing horror, Bunnymund failed to realize that he'd lowered his boomerangs. Arms hanging limply by his sides, ears and nose quivering, he insisted, "This ain't right! Issitoq said he was doing this to solve a problem!"

"Did you not think, perhaps, that the problem is _you_?"

Bunnymund hadn't heard Pitch approach and had to force himself not to flinch as the Boogeyman's voice suddenly sounded right in his ear. Hot breath brushed against his fur as Pitch smirked.

"You Guardians are so arrogant. You always believe that everyone _else_ is at fault, that it is always someone else who causes the problem. Well, let me tell you something, little rabbit." Pitch's voice dropped to a whisper. "You Guardians create far more problems than you solve. You commit far more crimes than those you swear to defeat. You wonder why you were selected as participants in the rite? I can tell you why: the Guardians are the biggest failures of all recorded time."

Throat dry, chest heaving with sharp breaths as he struggled to stay calm, Bunnymund said nothing as Pitch Black continued to whisper horrible words into his ear.

"Frost has caused so many problems…it is clear why he was selected. Toothiana already lost her teeth and fairies to me once—who's to say something like that won't happen again? She clearly lacks the ability to protect the children, she can't even protect herself. Sandman was defeated by my own hand, and quite easily I must say. As the oldest and most powerful of the Guardians, one would think he'd be more capable than that. As for you…" Pitch's golden gaze flicked over Bunnymund's trembling form. "What are you? One lonely Pooka, a spirit who can't even get a couple of eggs up a tunnel without help. Because of you, because of _your_ inability to complete one simple task, Easter was lost and you were forgotten. Children lost their hope, and you know how much they need their hope. You said so yourself: without hope, they have no reason to keep on living.

"And _then_ —"

Bunnymund flinched as that sinister whisper pierced the quiet of the night, seeped into his mind and settled like a blanket of purest evil over his heart.

"—then, my wretched little Pooka, you had the nerve to blame Jack for your failure. You thrust all your shortcomings onto that poor, invisible frost spirit's shoulders, as if it were _his_ fault that _you_ cannot succeed at the simple task Moon set for you."

His chuckle was as deep and black as the darkest pit of hell. "I can assure you, rabbit, that it is exceedingly obvious why it has come down to you and Jack. Out of the five of you, you two are by far the worst Guardians I have ever seen."

Somewhere in the back of his buzzing, petrified mind, Bunnymund found the strength to mutter one final rebuttal. "At least we're not evil."

Pitch made a dismissive sound between his lips, like he was spitting upon the Pooka's words. "You call me evil, you call me wretched, but that is what fear _is._ And fear is just as necessary as hope and dreams. If it were not, do you honestly believe I would still exist after everything you passel of pathetic pets have done to me? You've thrown me down, you've isolated me, you've made it _impossible_ for _anyone_ to believe in me!" His voice rose to a shout before dropping back into a sharp hiss. "No more. I will stand for it no more! Cassandra Fisher will not pick me, I have ensured it. There is nothing you spirits can do to stop me because Issitoq himself has not seen fit to punish me!"

He laughed heartily, right in Bunnymund's sensitive ear. "You are _doomed,_ little rabbit." Then he shrugged, eliciting a soft sigh of relief from the Guardian as he stepped smoothly away. "Your only salvation is that you won't get picked."

Sensing something ominous underlying those words, Bunnymund turned his head to catch Pitch's gaze. His tone was raspy, as his throat was still constricted and mouth inconceivably dry. "What do you mean?"

"That girl hates Easter. She sees no point to it at all, so you can rest assured she'll never pick you." Pitch took another step back, smirking openly. "You should be pleased. As you so aptly put it, hope is necessary for humanity's survival. I do not recall you mentioning fun, though. Do you know why that is? In your own mind, hope is necessary, dreams are necessary, but fun is not. How deliciously judgmental."

He laughed mercilessly. Two more backward steps, and Pitch was once again along the edge of the Nightmare circle. With a subtle gesture, the mares parted, leaving ample space for Bunnymund to flee.

And that was precisely what the Pooka did.

* * *

"Run, run, little rabbit," Pitch murmured mockingly as he watched the Guardian bound away. Onyx approached her master, and he ran his hand idly down her neck. His attention still fixed upon that bolting Pooka, he sighed contentedly to himself, "It's just too easy."

Yes. Almost too easy. After his last attempt to overthrow the Guardians, it had become exceedingly apparent to Pitch that a direct approach simply would not work. No matter how powerful he became, they were five and he was one, and they had every brat in the world on their side. As that wretched Jamie Bennett had demonstrated, even a single believer was enough to tip the balance in the Guardians' favor. It wasn't fair, and far beyond aggravating, but that was the way things were and so he had little choice but to begrudgingly accept it.

Such being the circumstances, most spirits would've simply rolled over and given up, but Pitch was nothing if not determined. It had taken more than five hundred years for him to reemerge after the Dark Ages; he knew it was only a matter of time before another opportunity presented itself. Patient, devious, and exceptionally cunning, rather than forsake his plans entirely he chose instead to find a way around that singularly exasperating obstacle. Hidden, but not gone, silent, but not afraid, the Nightmare King waited and watched, quietly regathering his power in the process.

And, slowly, over the course of many years, a new plan began to take shape inside his mind.

Pitch had been absolutely ecstatic when he discovered Cassandra Fisher. Issitoq's initiation of the rite of _Mutatis Mutandis_ set the perfect stage for his plans to unfold. Why, it was as if the Adjudicating Eye had handed him Moon's pets on a silver platter! They were so foolish, those spirits, so arrogant and ignorant and, under the surface, so very, very sensitive. Pitch knew. Pitch always knew. Their deepest fears and darkest secrets were always his to abuse and be amused by, but oh how _easy_ they were making it for him! He hadn't needed to lift a finger for Frost, arguably the most powerful of the lot, to succumb to the darkness within his own mind. And as for the Pooka…Pitch nearly laughed at the recollection of what had just transpired. He'd been fully prepared to brush the rabbit's head with Nightmare sand, just to give him an extra push if need be (to hell with whether or not it was against the rules, he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity like this!), but it hadn't been needed in the slightest. A menacing backdrop and few well-chosen words were all it took for the pathetic rabbit to wither before him.

For just like Frost, who feared rejection on the basis of his inability to do…well, _anything_ right, E. Aster Bunnymund's greatest fear was that he would never, ever be good enough.

 _How utterly amusing._

What was that ridiculous human saying? Great pride comes before a fall, or something of that nature. Well, the Guardians were certainly proud, the Pooka most of all. Knowing that, and knowing the rabbit's greatest fear, it had been all too easy for Pitch to set this part of the plan in motion. All it had taken was one…little…push…

 _And now, he will fall._

* * *

Cassandra was pondering over Frost's strange request and even stranger behavior when the Easter Bunny suddenly leapt through the open window. After her initial shock, she snapped at him, "Is this gonna become a habit with you people?"

"Where's Jack?"

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the rabbit. Like Frost, this particular Guardian wasn't his usual self. He was breathless and flustered, and his expression was completely unreadable, eyes as impervious as stone.

 _This guy usually wears his emotions on his sleeve. What the hell is going on now?_

"No idea."

"I _know_ he was here. I can smell him. Where is he?"

Like his eyes, his voice was hard. To cover her growing unease, her response was exceptionally cool. "I. Don't. Know."

"What did he say? What did he ask you to do?"

"What does it matter what he wanted? Just go ask him yourself!"

"He asked you to pick him, didn't he?"

In spite of the immense tension in the room, Cassandra's interest peaked a little. The faintest trace of hope crept into her voice. "Can _you_ tell me what's going on?"

"No," he replied sharply, earning himself a scowl. Ignoring the expression, he commanded, "No matter what he said to you, no matter what you promised him, you are _not_ to pick him. Understand?"

Never one to appreciate being told what to do (especially recently, when _everyone_ seemed intent on telling her what to do), Cassandra bristled. "Why? Want me to pick you instead?"

His response was blunt. "Yes."

When she heard that, a really strange sound escaped her mouth. It sounded like a laugh, but it was far too short and bitter for it to be a proper laugh. Still, it made the rabbit tense, blue-gray hackles rising. No doubt the almost-laugh sounded unspeakably cruel to him considering the present circumstances.

"I can't believe this," Cassandra said with a shake of her head. "Are the rest of you idiots going to parade through here asking me to pick them too? Frost told me it's a bad thing to be picked, but I'm starting to wonder if that's really true."

"Oh, believe me, kid, it's absolutely the truth. And you _will_ pick me."

She pierced him with a glare. "No."

In the face of her defiance, green eyes narrowed. "No?"

"No," she repeated stubbornly. Arms crossed firmly over her chest.

"Why not?" The question was posed very, very quietly, in a tone that was almost completely devoid of emotion.

Staring fixedly at him, Cassandra let the annoying, arrogant, accented rabbit spirit see in her eyes the sheer depth of contempt she felt for him. In a voice that positively dripped with frustration and vehemence, she declared, "I don't give a damn whether it's bad or not, the very last creature on this entire _planet_ I would ever pick for _anything_ is _you._ "

Silence. Instead of answering her, the rabbit spirit closed his eyes. Pulling a deep breath in through his nose, he drew up to his full, intimidating height, until even his ears stood ramrod straight atop his skull. He remained that way, stiff and immobile, for several moments. Then those eyes snapped open again, and what Cassandra saw in them made her blood run cold.

She'd seen this spirit angry before. She'd seen him frustrated, surprised, confused, belligerent, countless emotions… Never this. Those eyes, normally bright green and shimmering with unspoken pride, were now very dark. Some indiscernible emotion—one which rode the finest line between fury and torment—flickered in their depths, accentuating the harsh, almost callous expression that had settled upon his furry face. As she stared in mute shock, his lips pulled back to reveal very large, incredibly daunting teeth.

A silent snarl, a predator's warning.

 _What the fuck?!_

In an attempt to reign in her growing anxiety, Cassandra assured herself, _I'm a kid, he can't hurt me._ But then something Pitch had said the other night appeared unbidden at the forefront of her thoughts:

"'If I were to ever make an exception, it would be for you.'"

He'd been talking about killing her at the time, and right now, that was the only description Cassandra could come up with that came even close to describing the look on the rabbit spirit's face.

Murderous intent.

"If you won't pick me—"

He uttered the words in a voice pitched so deep and so low, they rumbled in his chest like the growl of a wild beast. Cassandra took a step back, then another, the backs of her legs bumping into the couch as he finished the sentence with that acrimonious gaze still locked upon enormous brown eyes.

"—then I'll _make_ you."


	11. Consequences

Author's Note:

Welcome back everyone! And welcome of course to anyone who's recently found my work. :)

 **Momochan77:** I truly apologize for what I did to your favorite character...and for making you cry. I also apologize in advance for this chapter, please don't cry too much. *hugs*

 **starthedetective:** No, she doesn't deserve it, and that's one of the sadder aspects of this fic I think. Nice work on figuring things out, and yes, definitely expect the unexpected. *evil grin*

 **Silversun XD:** Yes, yes it did.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Yep, things are going down, and as for whether or not Jack comes you'll just have to read and see.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Glad you liked it so much. It definitely took a while to get that chapter just right, particularly the section with Pitch. I'm both pleased with and humbled by your praise.

Emotions are running high in this chapter, so please excuse the significant increase in swearing compared to previous installments.

Please enjoy!

* * *

The very instant those threatening words left the rabbit spirit's mouth, Cassandra tried to run. Normally she wasn't one to show weakness by turning tail, but she wasn't stupid either. She could easily detect the precariousness of her current situation: a six foot, muscular, armed, pissed off spirit against a twelve-year-old child?

Magic or no, she was in danger.

She almost made it out into the hall before paws grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and yanked her backward. A startled yelp escaped her mouth as she was tossed effortlessly and really quite roughly back into the living room. She fell across the coffee table, knocking over her dad's dirty dishes and forgone magazines before landing with a heavy thump on the floor. An involuntary gasp of air left her at the impact, the sound drowned out by the crashing of glass and cutlery. She made to stand, but had barely gotten her feet back under her when the rabbit spirit was there, right in her face. Cassandra tried to block the next blow, but he was too quick. A sharp strike of one open paw into her sternum was all it took, and she was seated on the couch heaving for air. In spite of the gathering pain and lack of oxygen, she lashed out, her shoeless feet catching a lucky blow on his hip and thigh. He grunted, but such a reaction was grossly disappointing. It was as if the crazy spirit had barely felt it.

Dammit!

Recognizing that her current position on her ass left her extremely vulnerable, she tried to get up. No such luck. Twice she tried to stand, and twice she was ruthlessly shoved down again. She tried to kick him again, but he blocked the blow, the force of his parry swinging her leg—and, with it, her entire body—off to the side, leaving her exposed. A fist came down, aiming for her stomach, but she saw it coming and by sheer force of luck managed to roll onto the floor before the paw found its mark. While he recovered, she took those precious seconds to scuttle away on hands and knees. Once free of his imposing form, she made to run again, but once more had barely gotten to her feet when she was knocked down, this time by a sharp, heavy kick in the small of her back. With the speed and fluidity of a trained martial artist, the rabbit used the momentum of that kick to bring his leg down, smoothly transition his weight onto it, and bring the other foot up to catch her square in the belly before she even hit the floor. Cassandra landed heavily on her left side, a pained groan escaping her as she instinctively curled up, clutching her aching stomach.

 _What the fuck?! What the fuck is he doing?!_

Aching and furious, Cassandra flipped over onto her back, hoping to defend herself in any way she could. Bad move. He reached down for her at the precise moment she turned, so instead of grabbing her by the shoulder, as he obviously intended, his claws raked along her face, opening three long wounds on her right cheek. She saw something akin to guilt flash very briefly in those emerald eyes before they became stony once more.

 _Fuck this!_

When he succeeded in grabbing her this time, she reached up, grasped his wrist firmly and let him feel the full brunt of her frost magic. He hissed sharply as ice coated his skin, but he did not let her go. By instinct alone she summoned black nightmare sand and swiped at him, opening a large wound across his chest with the dagger she couldn't remember shaping. _That_ caught his attention. Shock and then fury burned in his eyes as red blood oozed from the injury.

"Spending quality time with Pitch?" he hissed. Before she could respond, his free paw rose up and came down sharply, knuckles catching her right in the temple.

Cassandra's arms fell limply to her side. Her vision swam and darkened around the edges, like she was spinning helplessly on an out-of-control carnival ride. She fought the nearly overwhelming need to puke even as she struggled to stay conscious. Hot breath fanned her face, and she vaguely understood that the rabbit spirit had hoisted her up by the front of her shirt so he could stare right into her glazed-over eyes.

For several long, tense moments, nothing happened at all. She had no idea what he was looking for; her mind was far too preoccupied with maintaining simplistic natural function under duress to possibly process complete thought. Whatever it was, though, he must've found it, for after a time (in which the only sound was their combined gasping), he released her.

Slumped against the carpet, she vaguely heard his accented voice through the pounding of her brain against her skull.

"Now you have to pick me. I ain't worthy of being a Guardian anymore. I ain't even worthy of being a Pooka."

Was that…pain in his voice? Blinking hard, still struggling for breath, Cassandra managed to focus upon the rabbit spirit. His expression was still harshly set, his mouth a thin line, but there were unshed tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over in spite of the carefully detached words he spoke.

She choked on a laugh. Somehow, around heavy panting breaths, she managed to gasp out a scathing retort.

"Fuck you."

Those waterlogged eyes narrowed. "If you don't pick me," he murmured, each syllable heavy with warning, "I will make you regret it. If you pick Jack, or Tooth, or Sandy, I swear to you, Fisher, on everything I hold dear in this world, I will make every last moment of your existence the worst hell you could _ever_ imagine."

One large foot struck the floor, opening up a tunnel. Without taking those unblinking eyes off of Cassandra, the Pooka dropped inside, leaving her alone with her injuries.

Lying in a heap on the floor, the battered girl struggled to get ahold of her heaving stomach and aching brain. Her eyes squeezed shut as the room spun precariously, and she didn't open them again until she was certain the world was holding still like it was supposed to. Staring up at the ceiling, her mood soured further. What the hell was going on with spirits lately? First Pitch threatening her, then Jack begging her, and now this damned rabbit spirit straight out _attacking_ her. Weren't Guardians supposed to protect kids?

"'If I were to ever make an exception, it would be for you.'"

 _Fuck off Pitch._

She nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of telling off the voices inside her own head, but it hurt too much. Just the simple act of breathing hurt. With a groan, Cassandra pushed herself upright into a sitting position. She sat there a moment, resting, then placed her hand on the coffee table and hoisted herself onto her feet.

She'd barely made it there when the front door was kicked open with a loud bang.

"Cassandra!"

Shit. It was Barb. The woman must've heard the ruckus through the walls, and there was no time at all for Cassandra to try and hide the evidence. How in the hell was she going to explain this?

 _Just play it off, maybe she won't—_

There was no time to finish the thought. Barb appeared in the living room, eyes wide and wild as she swiftly surveyed the scene.

"My god Cassandra, are you okay?!" she cried. "What happened?!"

"Nothing," Cassandra mumbled, taking a half-step back as the woman rushed forward.

"The hell it wasn't! Where's Randy?!"

She tried to twist away from Barb's pawing hands, to no avail. "He's not home."

"My god," the blonde uttered in horrified disbelief. She was studying the claw marks on Cassandra's cheek. "Just what the hell happened to you?"

Scowling heavily, the girl wrenched herself free. "I told you I'm fine!"

The words came out sharper than she intended. On some level she knew Barb was just trying to help and understood that the woman's concern was genuine, but she just wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight. Despite her immense capacity for self-control, Cassandra's nerves were frayed to nothing after dealing with so much drama.

Quite frankly, she'd had enough of everyone and everything.

Unfortunately, her violent reaction aggravated the fresh bruises on her stomach and ribs. She winced before she could censor the involuntary reaction, and Barb, standing so close, got a real good look at that brief flash of pain.

"Come on," she commanded. She took Cassandra by the wrist and practically dragged her out of the living room.

"What are you doing?" the girl asked, suspicion and wariness etched into every word.

"We're going the hospital."

"No!"

Stopping abruptly in the kitchen, Barb rounded on her. "Would you rather I call the cops and have you taken away in an ambulance?"

Cassandra's jaw clenched. No. No she would rather _not_ have that. Bad enough Barb was now involved in this, if cops showed up and she was carted away by medical personnel she'd become the local freak show. Her every attempt to remain anonymous in Burgess would instantly go to waste, and she'd never have privacy again. It was hard enough dealing with intrusive spirits—she wouldn't be able to bear it if gossipy neighbors and lackluster news reporters and social media busybodies started sticking their noses into her business as well.

That train of thought instantly led her onto another. If cops came and investigated, they'd undoubtedly deduce that she was home alone at the time of the incident. CPS would then become involved, and while such a development would serve to get her away from the duplex for a time, Cassandra knew it would also entail enduring even _more_ questions and intrusive interviews from people who pretended to care by forcing amicable smiles and faking tones of concern. After everything that had happened to her recently, she'd completely lose her mind if she had to deal with something like that.

Scowling, Cassandra realized her only viable option was to give in to Barb's demands and go to the hospital. She'd get a cursory examination, just to settle the blonde's nerves, and on the drive over she would think of a suitable excuse for her injuries. After that…well, after that there wasn't a whole lot she could do. As a minor her options were limited, and even if she managed to keep proper authorities off her back she doubted the woman from next door was ever going to forget about this.

 _I never should've allowed this to go so far,_ she realized, but of course such hindsight did her little good now. In allowing Barb to become such an active part of her life, Cassandra had obtained some semblance of true friendship for the very first time in her life, but she'd also inadvertently shot herself in the damn leg. Why hadn't the damn woman given up or lost interest like everyone else before? Surely she was sick of playing pretend by now! If Cassandra had known from the start that this unconventional relationship would become such a hassle, she never would've allowed it to blossom in the first place.

Well, she couldn't turn back time. And for better or for worse, the woman _was_ doing her something of a favor by not calling the cops, which was the truly prudent thing to do in a situation like this. If nothing else, Barb was willing to protect her dignity no matter the circumstances, and she supposed she owed her for that.

"No," Cassandra muttered at last.

The woman nodded, just once, before turning and heading for the door.

Randy took that rather inopportune moment to appear.

"Hey," he uttered stupidly, taken aback by Barb's presence in his house. He saw the furious gleam in the woman's eye and questioned, "What are you doing?"

Instead of answering him, Barb snapped, "Where the hell were you?"

"Work."

"At this time of night?" she snorted. "Don't treat me like a fool!"

Randy's expression soured. "Just what the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_? Take a good fucking look, Randy, and maybe you'll see what the real problem is!"

Barb shoved past him and descended down the steps, dragging a silent and sullen Cassandra along behind her. It was only in their passing that the man seemed to realize his daughter was there too.

"The hell happened to you?" he grumbled.

His complete lack of caring was blatantly apparent, even to Barb. A vehement "Fuck you Randy," was all the response she thought he deserved.

* * *

"I can't believe we're back here again."

"Shut up."

"Seriously, how do you even manage it? Your insurance copays must be through the roof."

"Screw you too."

Jamie chuckled. "Aw, come on, Soph, you know it's funny."

She scowled. "I'm glad my pain amuses you."

"Not your pain. Just the irony."

Yes, it was, in Jamie's mind, incredibly ironic. His sister had been in the emergency room not six months ago after accidentally slamming her hand in a car door, breaking two fingers. And here they were again, in the ER with Sophie nursing what was, in all likelihood, two broken fingers.

"At least it was the other hand this time," he quipped.

"Oh, yes, gotta keep up the zen and balance of my life somehow." Her voice was so cheery it was clearly sarcastic, and she elbowed her brother with her uninjured arm when he chuckled.

Their banter came to an abrupt end when a familiar figure appeared through the glass double doors, accompanied by a tense-faced woman.

"Jamie," Sophie murmured, sitting up a little straighter.

"I see her," he acknowledged just as quietly.

Neither dared say more, lest it break the strict rules set upon them by the Adjudicating Eye. They observed instead, watching intently as the blonde woman led Cassandra Fisher right over to the check-in desk and started to converse with the gentleman sitting there. Fisher muttered something under her breath, likely a denial of the seriousness of the problem, but her chaperone was having none of it. Without a hint of warning, the woman reached over and unceremoniously jabbed a finger into the girl's stomach. It hasn't even that hard of a touch, yet the girl flinched visibly, as if that simple contact had pained her significantly. Her point made, the blonde turned her attention back to the receptionist. Cassandra stood silent after that, hands stuffed into her jean pockets. Jamie wondered at the three fresh cuts on her face. It appeared at first glance like a cat or a dog had scratched her, yet upon closer examination the marks somehow looked…different.

He couldn't quite put a finger on it no matter how hard he studied them. He was staring, and so was Sophie, but neither Cassandra nor her escort seemed aware of that fact. A nurse appeared and tried to coax the girl over to a nearby gurney for a preliminary intake exam. Cassandra went reluctantly and sat rigid as the nurse took her blood pressure and oxygen level, checked her temperature, all sorts of inconsequential but necessary tests. The blonde woman spoke on her behalf, gesticulating as she presumably described the problem in great detail, judging from the growing concern on the nurse's face. As the scrub-clad woman moved to lift Cassandra's shirt, however, the girl lost patience.

"I told you it isn't that bad," she snapped, speaking for the first time in minutes.

"Just look at your face," the blonde woman retorted. They weren't being obnoxiously loud, but in the small, relatively quiet Burgess emergency room their voices carried easily. "You look like you've been mauled by a weasel or something."

Staring at the floor, the girl grumbled, "More like a pissed off rabbit."

Sophie tensed. Jamie felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. No. No it _couldn't_ be. Bunnymund would never do something like that! Never! He was sworn to protect children no matter what!

Their fierce but silent denials were quickly squashed when, out of the blue, the girl's head snapped up. Jamie was caught in her gaze before he could look away, ensnared by the unadulterated hate that burned in those brown eyes. He was both stunned and horrified by the intensity of that wrath, and he knew then that there was only one cause of it.

 _It really was him. Bunnymund attacked her, he attacked a child…_

He tore his gaze away, unable to look at her a moment longer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the sounds of the nurse fussing over her patient and the blonde woman's continued muffled depiction of the injuries, but he scarcely understood any of it. The knowledge that one of the Guardians had broken their oath was deeply troubling, so much so that everything else was now second in his consciousness, including his own sister's injuries.

 _What could've caused this? What could've prompted the Guardians to turn their backs on Cassandra?_

He knew of course that Pitch Black was, as always, the most likely instigator, but somehow that just didn't make sense in this case. If Pitch had wished Cassandra harm, why hadn't he just done the deed himself? He'd never shied away from vile, ruthless acts before. Besides, in order to get Bunnymund to break his oath the Nightmare King would've had to either corrupt or otherwise trick the Pooka, and while that was certainly something the devious Boogeyman would do, using the Guardian as a tool to strike against the very children he'd sworn to protect, thus killing two proverbial birds with one stone, it seemed to Jamie that a move like that was incredibly risky. Pitch had tried to lure Jack into the darkness before, only to fail, and Bunnymund was just as stubborn as the frost spirit if not more so. It would be no easy feat to sway him from the light, and Pitch wasn't one to leave anything to mere chance. Even if he'd found a way to get into Bunny's head, how had he managed to do it without the other Guardians noticing or moving to stop him before he hurt Cassandra?

Speaking of Cassandra, what purpose would it serve Pitch to try and be rid of her now? Surely it was much too soon for him to run out of uses for the poor girl, especially after all the work he put into manipulating her. The Nightmare King was unpredictable, yes, even downright irrational at times, but he was by no means a fool. Even if he let his emotions—namely pride, anger and frustration—get the better of him sometimes, he simply wasn't one to exert so much effort for no conceivable reason or reward.

 _Perhaps Pitch wasn't the antagonist then,_ Jamie deduced. _Maybe…maybe Fisher was the one who provoked Bunny._

A deep frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. Yes, that was indeed possible. If Fisher was as closely tied to Pitch as Jamie suspected, it was certainly conceivable that she had done something to force the Pooka's hand. Jamie stiffened as he remembered something. One of Cassandra's greatest powers was her shadow magic, and she even had a cloak Pitch gave her. Had she started to spread nightmares in Pitch's stead? Had she been trying to stir up feelings of fear and dread in the hopes of bolstering her own magical power? That would be something the Guardians wouldn't stand for, and he could definitely picture Bunnymund taking one for the team so as to protect the children.

Jamie chanced a glance at Fisher as she was led by the nurse to an exam room, the blonde woman hot on their heels. The girl didn't look all the worse for wear, all things considered. Did that mean the Pooka had simply given her a warning? Had the girl conceded the fight and agreed not to cause any more harm? Or had she been the victorious one?

To his left, a voice whispered, "I'm worried."

Jamie peeked at his sister. Her downcast eyes were focused on her swollen fingers, and for a moment even he wasn't entirely certain whether she was speaking about the condition of her hand or the present situation—largely unknown—between Fisher and Bunnymund.

Ultimately, he decided to play it safe.

"Me too," he murmured then poked at the purple digits for emphasis. "Those definitely look broken. You're gonna have a really hard time wiping your ass."

She slapped his shoulder, wincing when the force of the blow jostled her body, sending a jolt of pain shooting from her injury.

* * *

Bunny never returned from his search for Jack, and Tooth was worried. Her fairies had not reported a single sighting of either spirit, and that was incredibly unusual. With so many of her little assistants traveling the world to collect children's teeth, it was practically impossible for those two to hide.

That they were hiding now was incredibly worrisome.

The Warren was the first place she looked, as it was by far the most logical. If anything had happened to Bunnymund, anything at all, this would be the place he returned to. It was his realm, his sanctuary, his one true home, for unlike Jack, who'd never settled down in any given place, Bunnymund was deeply attached to his quiet little abode.

Flitting over the sun-touched landscape, the fairy called, "Bunny?"

The Warren was quiet, but unnaturally so. Perhaps it was just her subconscious mind projecting her emotions onto her surroundings, but the place didn't seem quite as bright and cheery as it usually did, either. She shivered. It felt cold, too. Not wintery cold, like hugging Jack felt cold, but definitely cooler than was typical of the spring-loving Pooka.

Her concern grew in leaps and bounds as she searched, calling out for her friend and compatriot. "Bunny? Bunnymund? Are you here?"

After several minutes, she finally obtained a response.

"Here, Tooth."

His voice was soft, dejected, but Tooth was relieved to hear it anyway. She flew over the rock that concealed the Pooka, landed on the ground, and then gasped.

"Bunny! What happened to you?"

The tiny Pooka, so small he could now fit into Tooth's hands, sunk even lower into himself, tiny arms tucked close to his chest. He did not respond, nor did he turn to look at her.

"What happened?" she repeated. Amethyst eyes darted around the Warren, suspicion rising. "Is it Pitch? Are the children all right? Are they in danger?!"

"Nah," he murmured, effectively halting the rapid succession of words. "Nah, the ankle biters are fine, Tooth."

"Is it hope? Are they losing it? North and I can always—"

"It ain't that…"

Tooth frowned, confused as to what he could mean. He was so small, Bunny, so weak and broken. The last time he'd been in such a state it was because Pitch had ruined Easter, causing the kids to lose their hope; but Easter had been a rousing success this year, the children's hope burned stronger than ever, and Bunny was clearly telling her that Pitch wasn't at fault.

 _I don't under—_

Her gaze settled upon something lying on the grass beside Bunnymund. Her heart seized inside her chest as she recognized it.

"Bunny…" she whispered. She moved to take the scroll, but hesitated, glancing over at him. When he neither moved nor voiced protest, she reached out again and picked up the opened document. She read swiftly, lips moving almost imperceptibly as she did so. Tears swelled up in her eyes before she'd even finished.

"Bunny…"

"I had to."

He finally lifted his head, and Tooth saw that the Pooka's fur was soaked and matted from crying.

"I had to," he repeated, voice cracked with emotion. "She was gonna pick Jack if I didn't. Jack _asked_ her to pick him. I didn't…I couldn't…" He turned away again, paws pressed over his eyes. Hiding from Tooth or from the memory of what he'd done, she really couldn't say. "It was the only way to guarantee he'd be safe."

Tooth had no idea what to say to something like that. What Bunny had done was wretched, the lowest of abominations for a Guardian of Childhood, and yet…it was also…somehow…beautiful. He hadn't done it for cruelty's sake; it was clear he felt deep remorse for what he'd done to Cassandra Fisher. Nor had his motives been selfish; quite the contrary, he'd done it for reasons that were purely self _less._ He'd thrown aside his every principle not just as a spirit, as a Guardian, but as a _Pooka_ , in order to protect Jack.

Such was probably the only reason he was still alive right now. For breaking his Guardian's oath and attacking a child, Manny and Issitoq both had ample reason now to have Bunny destroyed. That was to say nothing of the fact that what he'd done was a blatant break of _Mutatis Mutandis_ code, for no one was supposed to force the arbiter's decision, not even at their own expense. But Issitoq had not seen fit to destroy him or even to take away his ability to manage children's hope. Instead he'd cut Bunnymund down, taking away his strength and his magic and all-but banishing him to the Warren until further notice. Such unorthodox punishment might be construed as leniency, perhaps even mercy, but Bunny would not see it that way and Tooth did not either. She knew Issitoq did nothing without cause—if he was keeping Bunny alive, it was probably because he was saving him for Cassandra's decision. And if the girl did not pick him, chances were Moon would be obligated to dispense appropriate justice.

For Bunnymund, no fate would be crueler, not even getting picked for the rite.

"Bunny…" she whispered, aching for her friend but completely helpless to do anything. "Bunny I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

She reached out for him, and he did not protest as she lifted his tiny, quivering form and hugged him close. For a long while they remained in silence, quietly weeping. When the tears finally subsided, Tooth straightened, a determined look settling into her eye. "We'll fix this."

Bunny twitched, not quite lifting his face from his paws as he peeked over at her.

"We'll fix this," she repeated, strength returning to her voice as a plan formed in her mind. "This isn't over, not until Cassandra chooses. There's still a chance we can convince her to pick Pitch."

A tiny, dismissive sound escaped Bunny's lips. "You know she won't, especially after what I've done."

"Issitoq hasn't explained to her yet," Tooth reminded him. "Cassandra is smart, Bunny. Once she knows the full scope of the rite, she'll understand that we were each chosen for a reason. Knowing there's a reason why Jack's and Pitch's powers presented strongest in her, she will have to seriously reconsider what she thinks she knows about the Boogeyman."

"It won't be enough…"

"It's a start. Anything is better than nothing. You did what you did for Jack, let us now do this for you."

He shook his head, refusing to accept her words or to believe that there was still hope. Undeterred by his denial, Tooth continued.

"We'll look for Jack. Once we explain what happened, both at the Pole and with Cassandra, he'll realize that he misunderstood. The four of us can then do something about Pitch."

"It won't change anything. Even if she picks him, I'll still be struck down for what I did."

"So that'll make you happy, then?" So startled was he by the anger in her voice, he lifted his head to look right at her for the very first time. His eyes were wide, displaying a mixture of shock and confusion and mild awe, while her own were dark with frustration and determination. "Will you be happy if you get picked and Pitch gets away with everything?"

"Of course not!" he refuted, fur standing on end in response to his own rise in anger.

"Then don't give up, Bunny. What you did…let's consider it a safety measure. Even if we can't convince Cassandra to pick Pitch, the very least we can do is stop him before he divides us any more than he already has."

"We Guardians stand together, always," a thickly accented voice rumbled.

Bunny and Tooth both turned to see North standing there, heavy red coat and all, a look of sad understanding in his bright blue eyes. It cut Bunny deeply to have his friend see him like this, the pain and humiliation causing him to flinch, but he put on a brave face and did not turn away. As Tooth stood to greet the big man, he rose up on her palms so that he, too, could face him.

"Look, mate, I just wanna say—"

North held up a hand. "No apologies," he said gently. "Do you regret protecting Jack?"

Bunny shook his head firmly.

"Then no apologies," the big man reiterated. "What's done is done. _How_ it was done may be very wrong, but _why_ it was done…ah, that is friendship and loyalty, nothing to be sorry for."

In spite of his present situation and condition, Bunny managed a genuine smile as those supportive words touched his heart. "Thanks mate." Then he frowned. "Where's Sandy?"

"Ah. Sandy has gone to speak with Cassandra Fisher."

A look of alarm crossed Bunny's face.

"He knows what you did, Bunny," North quietly reassured him. "He won't try to take your place, as you did for Jack, and he does not hate you."

"Sandy's gone to speak with her, to act as something of a middle ground, like we talked about before all of this fell apart," Tooth said, reminding the Pooka of what the group had decided long before they'd learned about Issitoq and the rite of _Mutatis Mutandis._

Struggling to shake off the unease that rose within him at the thought of yet another Guardian facing the ankle biter alone, Bunny murmured, "She's been shaping nightmares."

Tooth and North both stiffened.

"What did you say?" the fairy inquired on a breath, amethyst eyes very wide as she stared down at him.

"Fisher's been corrupting dream sand like Pitch does. I don't know how long she's been doing it or how many kids she's affected, but she's got black sand just like the Boogeyman." Still balanced on Tooth's open palms, Bunny straightened up so they could see the wound on his chest, now significantly reduced in size due to his own diminutive form. "She got me good while we were…you know…tussling."

"Unbelievable," Tooth whispered. She cast a nervous glance at North, who shook his head resolutely.

"Sandy is our last chance. Maybe he can convince her, maybe not. Either way, we must leave the child to her decision and focus on Pitch. That's what's important now, yes? Finding Jack and stopping Pitch?"

His two compatriots swallowed nervously but nodded their agreement. The big man moved forward and settled down on the rock that, not so very long ago, had served to hide Bunnymund as he wallowed in his shame. Huddled together in the quiet serenity of the Warren in late April, the three Guardians quietly conversed and devised a plan.

* * *

Cassandra rolled over for what was surely the hundredth time, furious and frustrated and far too uncomfortable to possibly go to sleep. The damn doctor had taken one look at the lump on her head where that stupid rabbit spirit struck her and insisted she remain overnight for observations. Cassandra hated hospitals, hospitals and urgent care clinics and dental offices…hell, _anything_ even remotely related to the medical field. Such places always smelt so stale and so sterile to her sensitive nose she never failed to grow nauseous, and for some inexplicable reason the stench tonight was particularly unbearable. The smell of disinfectant, antiseptic, and commercial-grade cleaning product was so strong it practically burned her nose. And the noise…Cassandra had grown used to her powerful hearing over the years, learning to tune out background jabber and the usual racket created by the countless trinkets and apparatuses of the world, but tonight it was impossible. Even when she plugged her ears hard with her fingers she could still pick up snippets of conversations taking place down the hall. And that was through the closed door of her room. Just what the hell was going on? Did it have anything to do with the rabbit spirit attacking her and his wanting to get "picked", whatever the hell getting picked meant?

She didn't know the answer, but whatever the cause of her inexplicably sharpened senses the result was leaving her increasingly aggravated. It was well past midnight, and while she lay there wide awake, Barb slept soundly in a nearby chair. Those deep, quiet breaths almost felt like a mockery to the insomnia-stricken preteen. Stifling a growl of annoyance, Cassandra turned over yet again and tugged the cheap hospital blanket around her shoulders. Worse than being unable to fall asleep was the fact that she couldn't turn to her dream sand for quick relief, as experience had taught her that she tended to sleep hard whenever she did so. The last thing she needed was to put herself out and then have a nurse mistake her heavy slumber for a symptom of brain damage.

 _I just can't win lately._

A faint tap-tap on the window startled Cassandra from her exasperated thoughts. Lifting her head, she startled and then glowered when she saw the dream weaver hovering just beyond the glass, perched on a fluffy golden cloud.

"Go away," she hissed.

The dream weaver shook his head.

Scorn dripped from every word as she inquired, "You going to beg me to pick you too?"

To her surprise and, admittedly, rather to her relief, the dream weaver shook his head again, his expression a mixture of sadness and immense disappointment. With one small hand he gestured at her to come closer. When Cassandra took her turn at shaking her head, he patted the cloud beside him, one eyebrow quirked in silent invitation.

So the tiny man wanted to talk, eh? After everything that had happened with the Guardians, particularly Frost and that stupid Easter rabbit, Cassandra was loath to have anything more to do with them. At the same time, though, the dream weaver hadn't done anything particularly disagreeable, and had always appeared to be the most reasonable of the group. Besides, she'd wanted to talk to him ever since she arrived in Burgess, hadn't she? Why not take the opportunity presented, even if the timing _was_ rather suspicious?

 _Even if I say no, he'll probably just let himself in and make me talk to him anyway._

Glancing over at Barb, who slept on completely unaware of what was taking place just a few feet from her, Cassandra turned back to the dream weaver, eyeing him as she tried to think of a good excuse. It had only been a few minutes since the nurse had last checked up on her; it would be a good half an hour at least before she came back. There was no telling if or when Barb would wake up, though…

"If I get caught out of bed, that's the end of it."

He pondered the dilemma for a moment. She had to fight a smug smirk as the seconds ticked by. The dream weaver was powerful, yes, and could plant dreams into thousands of minds each and every night, but she doubted that even he could make an adult dream. After all, Pitch's globe of believers had made it rather plain to Cassandra that humans typically lost their ability to interact with the spirit world as they grew older. So it only made sense that magic would likewise lose its effect on non-believing adults, didn't it?

 _And Barb doesn't believe, otherwise she would've seen Pitch Black. She walked right past him for crying out loud._

The satisfaction she felt at having thwarted the dream weaver's plans for the night were, unfortunately, rather short-lived. After a bit of consideration, the yellow man gestured at Barb with one hand as he shaped a ball of yellow dream sand in the palm of the other. Even without words, she understood his meaning clearly: _Put her to sleep with the dream sand._

"Why don't you do it?"

She was hoping her genuine interest in seeing his power at work up close would conceal the true intention behind her saying such a childish thing, but the dream weaver was far from stupid. He eyed her quizzically yet silently until she caved with a scoff.

"My sand doesn't work on anyone but myself."

He looked surprised to hear that but made no comment on it, for which she was immensely grateful. Cassandra hated admitting weakness to anybody, and was especially wary of doing so now that she sported fresh bruises and cuts from a rather one-sided fight with a demented rabbit spirit. She stepped aside as the dream weaver sent a thin stream of sand through the window and into the room. The moment it touched Barb's head, the woman emitted a long sigh, her body visibly relaxing as she did so. Cassandra frowned at the dream she was having: groups of children playing and tussling good-naturedly.

 _She doesn't have kids and has never mentioned wanting them as far as I know, so why does she dream of them?_

A gesture from the dream weaver pulled her from her ruminations. Without further delay Cassandra sank into the shadows, reappearing moments later atop the yellow sand cloud. She was quite impressed that he managed to maintain the shape for so long, and so easily, but made sure not to let any such emotion show on her face. Settling for the safety of an impassive stare instead, she sat cross-legged on the cloud and stated coolly, "All right. What do you want?"


	12. Conversing on a Cloud

Author's note:

Thanks for all the views, reviews, follows and faves! Hugs for everyone! *Hugs*

 **Momochan77:** Sorry for the feels, but it was necessary. I promise things won't get any worse...maybe...

 **Silversun XD:** Read on, and you'll see how they manage.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Don't worry, I laughed when I wrote it, though I honestly changed that particular line at the last minute. I originally had him saying something else then thought "Meh, why not" and altered it, and I can honestly say I'm glad I did. Lol. And again, sorry about the feels, but it was a necessary evil.

 **starthedetective:** It was stated a couple of chapters back that Cassandra's magic is based upon who's got a chance to be picked for the rite. That's how they know North is safe, because she doesn't have any of his gifts or powers, just like they know Jack and Pitch are the most likely candidates because their gifts are her strongest powers. Hopefully that clears it up for you. :) And yes, it's definitely a good thing you don't know what's going to happen because that means I'm doing a good job keeping things from being cliched or predictable, which is always an issue writers face, I think. With so many stories floating around, keeping plots fresh can be difficult sometimes.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Yeah, Bunny's kinda being a big jerk right now, but there's a method to my madness I swear. As for Jack, welllllll...

 **Rhaps:** Welcome! Always love to hear from someone new. :D Glad you love it so much, and hopefully you make it back again for future installments.

Please enjoy everyone!

* * *

With a gentle smile, the dream weaver lifted his arms, hands open and facing towards the night sky, thereby lifting the cloud into the air. Soon the two of them hovered high above the hospital, gazing down upon a slumbering Burgess. Cassandra had to admit, the view was spectacular.

"So what do you want?" she repeated when the silence began to stretch between them.

He remained standing, but that was just fine with her. He was so short in stature her current position (sitting slouched on the little cloud) actually allowed them to be at eye-level. Staring directly at her, he shaped symbols over his head with golden wisps of sand, two of which she recognized instantly. Arms folded defensively across her chest.

"Unless you're going to tell me what the hell is going on with this getting picked nonsense, I don't want to talk about them."

The dream weaver looked sad to hear that, but he nodded in understanding all the same. After a moment's thought, he created a symbol that looked rather reminiscent of Barb and tilted his head to one side in question.

"Is this about my sand?" It couldn't be about anything else, could it?

A nod confirmed her inference.

"Shouldn't the real topic be how you can use your magic on people who are grown up and don't believe?"

She could tell by the twinkle of amusement in his eye that he knew she was deflecting, but he answered her question anyway.

 _It's much harder, but I can do it._

He pointed a finger at her, and at the exact same time a little yellow hand floating above his head copied the gesture. The unspoken question was obvious: _You?_

Well, this was certainly interesting. Apparently the dream weaver was similar to Pitch Black in that he was willing to offer information provided she gave some up in return. She supposed that was a fair enough exchange, as long as he didn't start asking questions about her personal life. Just _one_ inquiry about her family and she was done.

"I've tried to give other people dreams, but I can't. I've never been able to figure out why." Without a moment's pause, Cassandra pressed the dream weaver, "Why can't anyone tell me about this situation you're all in? Frost said it has something to do with Issitoq but he didn't go into too many details."

The symbols appeared slower this time, as if he was choosing them carefully.

 _The decision has to be fair._

"The decision where I pick one of you for something but nobody can tell me exactly what that something is?"

 _Yes._

She mused aloud, "Fair you say…and Frost said this Issitoq character is the spirit of justice and law. So that makes him the judge and jury of the spirit world, right?"

The next shape to appear was positively grim, as was the meaning it conveyed.

 _And executioner._

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "That happens?"

 _Sometimes. Not often. But sometimes._

It was rather strange how easily she understood him. Perhaps she was more adept at interpreting the symbols because she possessed similar magic?

"Is this one of those times?"

His lips drew thin but he did not answer.

"Can't tell me huh?"

 _Sorry._

On a heavy sigh, she told him, "I'm used to it by now."

Cocking his head slightly, the dream weaver inquired curiously, _Pitch is following the rules?_

"If you mean is he purposefully keeping information from me, then yes. But I honestly can't tell you if half of it is because he really can't say or if he's just being a jerk."

He surprised her by smirking. _That's just Pitch._

She had to stifle a groan. "You don't have to tell me that."

 _Why do you go to him?_

"What?"

It took quite a few images, each smoothly replacing the last, to generate his response. _You act like you neither like him nor trust him, yet you still turn to him. Why is that?_

She scowled. "It's not like I have anyone else. And you Guardians sure haven't been all that impressive."

For his part, the dream weaver had the decency to look sheepish. _Sorry. We really haven't been at our best lately._

"No kidding."

 _Will you consider forgiving us?_

"Not in a million years."

 _I didn't say accepting us or joining us. Just forgiving us. We truly are sorry for what we did._

Furious, she sneered at him, "How can you say that when that stupid fucking Easter Bunny just beat the crap out of me in my own house?!"

Yellow eyes lowered. _What Bunny did was very wrong, but he only did it to protect Jack._

"I figured that," she grumbled, staring out over the rooftops of Burgess. Of course she knew, but that didn't excuse what he did in the slightest.

Her gaze reluctantly shifted back to the dream weaver as he continued to shape silent golden symbols.

 _I know this is frustrating for you. Please understand that none of us wanted this either. Issitoq started something that cannot be stopped. We were all dragged into it, including Pitch._ He pulled a face then that could only be described as immense frustration. _I wish you knew more, but you don't. So it's hard to talk about._

"Jack said Issitoq would explain, and probably soon. Do you know when?"

 _No._ His gaze trailed off to the right, the opposite direction Cassandra had been looking moments ago. Grim-faced, he stated simply: _Probably very soon._

Wondering at the cause of his scowl, she peered through the semi-darkness, thankful that her night vision was so spectacular. When she spotted the object of his attention, her lip curled in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"What is that?" she asked, disgusted by the sight of it.

 _One of Issitoq's Watchful Eyes._

"What's it doing?"

 _Watching._

She wanted to roll her eyes but stayed the action. "Obviously. But why?"

 _Issitoq always watches. It's how he maintains order within the world. But he will watch you very closely after what Bunny did._

"Why?"

He turned his head towards her, and she held his gaze steadily as he answered.

 _He tried to force your decision. Nobody is allowed to do that._

"But Jack asked me to pick him too, so why wasn't that bad?" she inquired.

 _He_ asked. _Bunny did not._

"Oh." So many rules…it was extremely confusing trying to keep track of what was allowed and what wasn't.

As if sensing her confusion (for she sure as hell didn't show it), the dream weaver noted with a gentle expression on his pudgy face, _It will be easier once Issitoq explains._

"Easier to understand or easier to do this 'picking?'"

He winced. _To understand,_ he clarified. _It will be easier to understand._

Studying the dream weaver's expression, Cassandra came to the realization that whatever was going on right now was being extremely hard on everybody, just in different ways. Yes, she was pissed off over being attacked and was immensely frustrated with being used and confused, but at least she didn't have the threat of getting picked hanging over her head. From the look on the dream weaver's face now, the way Jack Frost had appeared so dispirited when asking to be picked, and how devastated the rabbit spirit seemed as he announced she no longer had a choice but to pick him, she knew she was only beginning to scratch the surface of the true gravity of their current situation.

 _Are they going to be punished if they get picked?_ she wondered. She frowned as she considered that. Why would they be punished? And if they'd done something wrong, why was _she_ the one making this decision? They had a spirit of justice and law, for crying out loud. Why was he sloughing his job off onto her?

Nothing made any sense. Issitoq better hurry the hell up and get around to explaining, or she was going to go crazy from all these unanswered questions.

Pushing aside such thoughts for now, Cassandra inquired of the dream weaver, "So what do you want from me? You're not here just to apologize, right? It's never simple with you people," she finished on a grumble, speaking more to herself than to him.

His shoulders rose and then fell as he sighed silently. _You have questions. I was hoping to answer as many as I can._

"Is this your way of trying to make it up to me?" she wondered aloud, touching the claw marks on her cheek for emphasis.

 _Partially. I also wish to establish trust._

She snorted. "Trust," she scoffed, but shut her mouth with a snap when she caught sight of the expression on his face.

 _It may not appear this way to you right now,_ he explained with utmost seriousness, _but you are in great danger. Pitch Black is playing nice only because he still has use for you. Once he is through, he will try to destroy you. He did so before with Jack._

That grabbed her interest at once. "Frost?" She recalled that Pitch deeply resented the frost spirit over something that had happened in the past, but as she'd never learned the details she remained deeply curious as to what precisely had transpired.

Thankfully, the dream weaver was more than prepared to oblige her with an answer.

 _Before Jack became a Guardian, Pitch tried to corrupt him. Cold and dark go well together, he said._

Well, that was certainly something Pitch Black thought, wasn't it?

 _Jack refused. Before that Pitch had ignored him or simply deflected his attacks. But after Jack said no, Pitch became very angry. He broke his staff, trapped him in Antarctica. When Jack escaped, Pitch did his best to destroy him. He even tried to take Jack's head with his scythe while his back was turned._

Cassandra waited for more, but soon realized that none would be forthcoming. That was it? That was why Pitch hated Frost so much? All because he'd tried to convert the white-haired boy to the dark and Frost said no? That didn't seem like too great an offense, really. In the grand scheme of things, being turned down was probably an extremely common event for the so-called Nightmare King. So why did he take this particular refusal so personally?

 _There are pieces missing somewhere,_ she thought, chewing on her lower lip as she contemplated the story. She didn't think the dream weaver was lying, but there were definitely some vital clues missing, ones that were probably known only to Pitch Black and Jack Frost.

 _And I can't exactly ask either of them, can I?_

Sighing heavily in the wake of still more unanswered questions, Cassandra turned her mind to the story's intended purpose, which was to warn her that Pitch would betray her the moment she was no longer of use to him. She'd known for a long time now that Pitch was just using her, and while it annoyed her tremendously he was, unfortunately, the closest thing she had to an ally. Until—or rather, _unless_ —things dramatically changed for Cassandra Fisher, she was stuck with what she had. Naturally the downside of being under the wing of a known manipulator was the inevitable free-fall once conceivable use ran out, but just how bad could that be in this case? She'd never considered Pitch Black to be a true threat to her. Mr. Bennett had said the Nightmare King would eventually harm her, and the dream weaver appeared intent upon solidifying such as fact, but after witnessing for herself Pitch's raw fury after she insinuated that his shaping nightmares harmed children, Cassandra couldn't help but remain skeptical of their assertions.

Besides, with as many rules as the spirit world appeared to have, did it really make sense for one such as Pitch Black to be permitted to hurt kids without serious repercussions?

No. No it did not.

Still…anyone who would try to take a spirit's head when they weren't looking just because they'd said no definitely couldn't be trusted. He may not hurt her physically or try to kill her, despite his blatant allusions to the contrary, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do his absolute best to make her life miserable.

"What do you want me to do?" Cassandra asked of the dream weaver, her eyes downcast. "I don't have anybody except him, even if he is an egotistical asshole."

 _You could come to me,_ he offered with his symbols. _The others won't be involved. I will share nothing unless you wish it._

Her eyes narrowed. "Why should I trust you? Your friends have done nothing but berate me and accuse me of thievery and deceit. They've called me a liar, kidnapped me and attacked me in my own home. Even if you haven't done those things personally, you're one of them, sworn to help and defend them. What reason do you have to keep your word?"

He remained completely unfazed while she listed the Guardians' wrongdoings, neither flinching nor moving to defend his friends with his sand pictures. But the moment she spoke of the plausibility of his being deceitful, the dream weaver's expression darkened.

 _I would no more share your secrets than I would tell of others' most private dreams_. He turned to stare out over Burgess, moving one small hand in a sweeping gesture that indicated the expanse of the town. In his anger, the golden pictographs he created became more numerous and complex, making accurate interpretation substantially harder for Cassandra Fisher. Her concussed brain struggled to keep up as he informed her: _You may think that I am only capable of whimsical fantasies and quaint, juvenile imagery, but that is far from the truth. Each and every vision is personal to the dreamer, but some are so deeply private that I do not allow them to retain physical shape in my sand. It would be wrong for others to see such dreams, even by accident._

Puzzled, she asked, "What do you mean, private? You deal with kids—all the kids' dreams I've seen are about stupid stuff like playgrounds and snacks."

 _Not every child forgets at the same time,_ he pointed out. _Some are teenagers before they forget. Those who are younger, perhaps around your age, often get caught in limbo between childhood and maturity. They still believe in us Guardians, yet they also seek to establish themselves in more…mature interests. Their dreams tend to reflect that._

Cassandra had never considered that before. Obviously children eventually forgot about the spirit world (unless they were the incredibly rare weirdo like Mr. Bennett and Coach Sophie), but for some reason she'd sort of assumed that kids just…well, woke up one morning and no longer believed. That the switch was sudden, the Guardians forgotten between one day and the next. Now that the dream weaver had spelled it out for her, though, his explanation actually made far more sense. Forgetting took time, as kids gradually replaced childish thoughts and wishes and beliefs with other things like smart phones and relationships and learning how to drive. It probably happened so gradually many of them didn't even realize they'd forgotten until long afterward, when a passerby's comment to their child or a quirky television commercial made them want to blurt out that Santa and Tooth Fairy didn't really exist.

Was that weird for them? she wondered. Surely it had to be strange for people to be convinced that the Guardians weren't real, that spirits didn't exist, when they'd once seen and believed. And was it strange for the spirits too? Was it hard for them to watch kids they'd probably known since infancy grow up and forget all about them? To see them walk right past as if they didn't even exist?

With a heavy heart, Cassandra remembered the night Barb had walked past Pitch Black in Randy's living room. She recalled how it had made her feel sad, for it reminded her way too much of what she'd gone through living with her mother. Perhaps the Guardians went through the same thing, too…only it had to be a little bit different for them because they'd actually _known_ those kids and had been seen by them, whereas Pitch was hardly ever seen at all.

Was it harder to be forgotten or to never be believed in at all? She asked the dream weaver that question, and he smiled sadly.

 _That's a question for Jack. He was invisible for a long time, so he has seen both sides._

"Was Pitch ever visible?"

 _For a short time. Many years ago._

"When he tried to destroy you by taking over Burgess?"

 _Yes. The children could see him then. I cannot say for sure if he enjoyed it though._

She frowned as she asked quizzically, "Why not?"

He thought about it for a moment, as if he didn't even know for sure why he had said that. After a while, he shrugged. _Pitch enjoys very little. Tormenting us. Being powerful. Spreading fear. He longs to be believed in, but even when he was I cannot be certain it made him happy._

She emitted a quiet snort. "Probably because you defeated him soon afterward."

 _Within a few nights,_ he confirmed.

"Was he ever powerful?"

 _A very long time ago._

"When?" she asked curiously. Anything about the elusive and egotistical Pitch Black was something she genuinely wished to know. He was so very tight-lipped when it came to personal matters.

 _You learn about it in school, actually. History lessons._

History? She thought long and hard about it. So hard, in fact, her head started to throb where that damned rabbit spirit left the bruise. The dream weaver just watched her with a small smile on his face, waiting for her to figure out the riddle.

Spirit of fear and shadow… Well, there were lots of times when people were afraid; the world had witnessed more wars than she could count, and that was to say nothing of natural disasters and famines, the aftermath of which always left people weak and terrified. But if the dream weaver expected the answer to be obvious enough for her to guess, it would have to be some major event, like World War I or World War II…except neither of those wars took place all that long ago. Not in terms of a spirit's lifetime, anyway. For them, a hundred years (give-or-take) was practically nothing. She had to go back further than that.

 _Spirit of fear…spirit of shadow…something from a long time ago, something we talk about in class… Crap, that doesn't ring any bells. A synonym maybe? Fear becomes terror, fright, frightened, scared… No, I can't think of anything for any of those. What about shadows? Shadows…silhouettes…nighttime…blackness…darkness…the dark…_

 _Wait…the dark!_

She lifted her head. "The Dark Ages?"

He beamed at her. Tiny yellow hands clapped fervently, but silently, while a second pair appeared over his head and waved giddily as if cheering for her.

"Come on, enough of that," she chided, scooping up a fistful of sand from the cloud and throwing it at him. It had no ill-effect, of course, and he continued to smile at her, though he did stop clapping.

 _Yes, the Dark Ages. That was when Pitch was most powerful._

"What about you guys? The Dark Ages lasted a long time." Several hundred years, if her recollection of past history tests was accurate. "Why didn't you stop him?"

 _At the time, we didn't exist._

She stared at him, her jaw sagging stupidly.

As if sensing her shock, he nodded slightly before continuing. _The Man in the Moon created the Guardians to stop Pitch. He had become too strong, too frightening. Without light, without dreams and wonder and hope, humans suffer. He did not care about the ill-effects, of course; he was too focused on how powerful their fear made him._

"So you defeated him," she deduced.

 _Yes._

"And now you guys are the powerful ones, but that's okay because you're not creating fear."

He cocked his head slightly. Her sarcastic tone clearly puzzled him. _Why do you say that?_

"Well you have to admit it's a bit hypocritical," she explained. "You Guardians were created to stop Pitch, to end the tyranny he'd maintained over humanity. Fine. I can see why hundreds of years of terror and darkness could be detrimental, especially to your precious children. But you didn't just overthrow him. You completely destroyed him. You cut him down as small as you could without actually killing him, and now you're working to keep him that way." She shook her head. "You've replaced one oppressive leadership with another; the only difference is that you guys think you're better than he is."

 _Our light is critical for humanity's survival,_ he argued.

"But so is darkness," she countered. "Darkness is when people sleep. They seek refuge from the hot sun by sitting in the shade. Fear prevents children from doing stupid things like jumping off bridges or wrestling tigers."

The corner of the dream weaver's mouth quirked, but she ignored it. Pressing her point, she insisted, "The Guardians are doing exactly what Pitch did, just on the opposite end of the spectrum. You're trying to keep the kids happy and carefree all the time, but the world just doesn't work that way. If fear wasn't important, Pitch wouldn't exist at all, would he?"

 _There has to be a balance—_

"Exactly," she interrupted. "A balance. Neither darkness nor light, neither fear nor fun, can have greater sway. But it isn't like that, is it? You five have all the say while Pitch has none at all."

 _Pitch is an exceptionally proud spirit. He will have it his way and his way only._

"And you guys are different how? You want it all or you want nothing. The way things stand now, the Guardians dictate every single thing that happens to the kids, and those that don't adhere to your rules are deemed threats and eliminated."

 _You cannot make such broad assumptions. There are plenty of other spirits, including some who dwell within the dark, who we find no quarrel with because they make none._

" _Exactly_. They make no quarrel with you. _You_ are the ones setting the standards here. You Guardians have the rest of the spirit world on a leash, and you provide whatever slack _you_ decide is acceptable. Just because Pitch is the only one stubborn enough to keep yanking in retaliation doesn't mean he's the only angry dog in the park."

Cassandra held the dream weaver's gaze for a long time, determined not to concede. Regardless of how she felt about Pitch Black's actions or character, she absolutely refused to accept that he was the only one in the wrong in this case. Surely the dream weaver realized that what she was saying—though difficult to swallow for sure—was nothing but the truth.

In the end, after a considerable pause in which he carefully considered her words, he said to her, _What would you have us do?_

"Huh?"

 _You believe there is an imbalance. What would you have the Guardians do to rectify it?_

"I don't know," she said exasperatedly. "Isn't that what your so-called Adjudicating Eye is for? I thought settling problems was his job."

All of a sudden, the dream weaver's eyes grew very wide. He stared at her, completely dumbfounded, and she stared confusedly back at him.

"What?" she asked. When he didn't answer her, she questioned, "What did I say? Hello?"

She waved her hand in his face. Blinking rapidly, as if drawn back to the present with that rather rude gesture, he shook himself slightly and shaped a single, simple symbol over his head.

 _You're right._

"About what?"

 _It being Issitoq's job to solve problems._

"And that's news to you?" she said dubiously. "You knew that already, so why are you so surprised when I say it?"

 _I think you know._

"The hell does that mean?"

Instead of answering her, the dream weaver leaned slightly to the left as his attention was drawn by something beyond the edge of the yellow sand cloud.

 _Your caretaker is waking._

"Barb?"

 _Yes. You'd better go back inside._

Great. Just great. Why were adults always interrupting her right when she was getting to the difficult part? Twice with Pitch, and now with the Sandman, her informative conversations had been abruptly cut short. Was this a matter of terrible luck on her part, or was the world simply out to get her one way or another?

 _Either way it sucks,_ she thought darkly as the dream weaver lowered the cloud so it was adjacent to her hospital room window. Casting a final glance at the yellow man, she told him plainly, "This isn't over. I'm going to get answers from you people one way or another."

He surprised her by smiling broadly. _Indeed. Do call whenever you have a desire to speak again._

"Call how?"

To demonstrate, he shaped a tiny butterfly with his sand and cast it skyward. It fluttered away, eventually disappearing into the lamp-lit night that clung to Burgess.

 _Command it to find me,_ he instructed, _and it will. The messengers will know where to go._

"Does it have to be a butterfly?" she grumbled. She didn't particularly care for butterflies. They reminded her of springtime, which reminded her of Easter, which reminded her of the damned Easter Bunny, which reminded her of why she was stuck in this position in the first place.

As if sensing the source of her misplaced ire, the dream weaver shook with silent laughter. _Any creature is fine. Just don't make it too large. That will attract attention._

"All right."

Sinking into the shadows, Cassandra quickly reentered her room only to find that Barb was, indeed, stirring. The woman sat up, inadvertently shaking off grains of sand she couldn't feel or see as she rubbed her eyes and brushed locks of blonde hair back over her head. Peering through the darkness, she murmured groggily, "Cassandra? You okay?"

"Fine," she replied honestly. "Just looking out the window."

She glanced over her shoulder. The dream weaver's cloud was moving away, though the little man riding it waved when he saw her looking. She didn't wave back, as that would attract Barb's attention, settling instead for a cursory nod. Turning back to the room, she saw Barb rise stiffly from the uncomfortable chair.

"Get any sleep?" the woman asked.

"No."

"Want me to get the nurse?"

"No. I just…had a lot on my mind, that's all."

More awake than she had been moments ago, Barb eyed her for a bit before speaking again. "I won't make you talk about this if you don't want to," she said quietly, "but only because I don't want to make you lie to me."

Cassandra's brows drew together. "It really wasn't—" she began, but the woman held up a hand to silence her.

"I'm not one to go poking my nose into others' business, nor am I a fan of breaking up families. But this has gone too far. Regardless of what happened or why, you're in danger as long as you remain in that house alone." Pulling the sweater closed and hugging herself with her arms, as if she suddenly felt cold, Barb continued, "I'm hesitant to report this to the police, but only because I know too well just how fucked up the foster system is. It's hell, pure and simple, and will be much worse for a child like you. So I'll make you a deal, Cassandra: I won't tell anyone about this, but only if you come stay with me from now on. I don't want you going back to Randy's house for anything. Do you understand?"

Cassandra nodded stiffly. Yes, she understood, but that didn't mean she liked it. Living with Barb would be both a blessing and a curse. Having someone around whose company she actually enjoyed most of the time would be a pleasant change from her dad's place, which was either deathly quiet or filled with screeching. But Barb wasn't one to shirk her duty as a responsible adult, which meant Cassandra would be back on a curfew and, even worse, would be kept track of all the time. Especially after what happened tonight, she knew the woman would watch her like a hawk, making dealing with the spirit world (or even practicing her magic in peace) exceptionally difficult.

"So do you accept?" Barb prompted.

She nodded again, only this time she mumbled, "Yes."

Barb held out her hand to shake, and Cassandra reluctantly took it.

"Good," the woman said as she shook the girl's hand firmly. "Good." Releasing her grip, she encouraged, "Come on, let's get you back to bed. They'll be throwing us out of here soon enough."

* * *

In order to hide from his friends, Jack went to the one place he swore he'd never go back to: that ravine in Antarctica where he'd lain weak and powerless after Pitch broke his staff. The chances of the other Guardians ever looking there were slim to none, especially since their search attempts were probably half-hearted at best. Why would they want to find him? If they found him, it would only lead to a whole host of awkward conversations and obligatory apologies that none of them really meant. After all, they _wanted_ him to get picked. They truly, honestly believed he _deserved_ to get picked.

 _And they're right,_ he thought miserably. _Well, they'll get their way eventually. It's only a matter of time…_

Curling in on himself, Jack hugged his staff tight as he huddled in a ball on the ground. Above his head, the winter wind howled, blowing whips of snow down into the crevasse. Soon enough, this place would probably be snowed in…or maybe just sealed off by a thick layer of ice and frozen snow. Either way, it would serve its purpose by making it harder for the others to find him.

Not that they would come looking here, but that was beside the point.

While his mind tumbled with miserable thoughts, Jack slowly drew circles in the air with his wrist, summoning fun-filled snowflakes to his fingertips before blowing them away with gentle puffs of air from his lips. They drifted lazily for a bit before disappearing in a twinkle of crystal ice and unfulfilled magic. Each one made him feel incredibly sad, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do with himself. Besides, these snowflakes didn't have a purpose anymore. Pretty soon, he wouldn't be the Guardian of Fun. Pretty soon, he wouldn't even be Jack Frost.

Pretty soon, he would be dead.

His next breath caught in his throat, choking him. Jack tucked his hands close to his chest and curled up tighter, desperately fighting the urge to cry. He'd cried enough already in the past few hours; the very least he could do was save what little remained of his pride by accepting his fate like a man.

Well…three-hundred-plus-year-old boy, but whatever.

He chuckled weakly at his own mental joke. _Losing my touch already, huh?_

Again, not like he would be needed it much longer, so it didn't really matter, did it?

A crunch of snow made him sit up suddenly. Blinking away unshed tears, he peered up towards the distant crest of the ravine, but the sound didn't occur again.

 _Weird,_ he thought. _That sounded like footsteps._

Nah, it couldn't be. There wouldn't be anything this far inland, especially this time of year. In the southern hemisphere, it was winter, and Antarctic winters were devastatingly powerful. Wind gusts of up to fifty miles per hour were quite common, and although true snowfall was quite rare inland, such voracious wind easily kicked up large swaths of preexisting ice and snow, creating clouds of microscopic crystals that could easily peel the skin off an ill-prepared soul. Penguins were one of the few species that could survive such brutality, but they didn't come here and were far too small to create such heavy-sounding steps.

 _Maybe Wind's playing tricks on me,_ he decided. Relaxing, he settled back against the wall of ice, bringing his staff to rest against his shoulder.

"You're gonna have to get used to the new Jack Frost pretty soon," he commented quietly. A whistling shriek, accompanied by a particularly strong gust of snow, was all the response he got. Was that anger or denial? Jack couldn't really tell.

Sighing heavily, the frost spirit closed his eyes. His head tilted back against the icy cliff as he rested. It was boring being down here alone. He began to wonder if being dead (dead for real, not like dying as a human, since he'd already done that once) was like that. Many humans believed in an afterlife, a place where good people went to live in peace and happiness while evil ones were banished to a separate, darker realm. For spirits, he'd only ever heard of destruction, and that meant precisely that: destruction. The end. Did that mean spirits simply ceased to exist? Did their consciousness not go anywhere, unlike what humans typically liked to believe?

 _I guess vanishing into nothing is better than being trapped forever in some dark, wretched place that scalds the skin and is incredibly boring,_ he decided with a wry smile. It faded quickly when he recalled the deep, dark abyss at the bottom of Ikiaq. Is that where he would end up once he was picked? He shuddered to think of it. Yes, becoming nothing would be much, much better than that.

There it was again, that crunch of snow! Jack's eyes popped open at once, but a startled cry of "Hey!" was all he managed before he was grabbed roughly by the ankles. Dangling upside-down, he brandished his staff, shouting, "Put me down! What are you—Oof!"

The breath was knocked out of him as he was shoved (for the _second_ time in his existence) into one of North's sacks.

"Phil!" Jack yelled heatedly, his voice muffled by the thick red fabric. He didn't know the other yeti's name, unfortunately, but that didn't stop him from berating him too. "Let me go! I'll turn you two into icicles! Let go! You guys!"

No answer. A tinkling, followed by a crash, then a whoosh confirmed that Phil and his companion had brought along a snow globe, just like last time.

No! He didn't want to go back to the Pole! Thrashing wildly, Jack cried desperately, "Let me go! Come on, Phil, just listen to me for once! Phil? Phil!"

"Quiet down," a thickly accented voice snapped. Jack winced as it continued, "You're making my head hurt!"

Closing his mouth at once, the frost spirit cowered inside the sack. No. No he didn't want to speak to Bunny. He didn't want to see the Pooka at all.

Well, he wouldn't be seeing him from inside the sack…but you know…

He giggled at the sheer ridiculousness of his own thought, and when he spoke some of that hysteria seeped into the words.

"Come on, you guys, let me go," he pleaded.

"Nah, mate," the Pooka answered coolly. "No more hiding, no more running away. You're gonna hear this, and you're gonna hear _all_ of it."


	13. Mending

Author's note:

Hello everyone! :D Thanks again for all the views and reviews, as well as the new follows and favorites! The last chapter got quite a bit of attention, so I'm very pleased and grateful to all of you for taking the time and interest to continue reading my little fic. :D

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Thank you, glad you enjoyed.

 **Rhapsoddity:** Welcome back! It's certainly good to hear from you again. Yes, Cassandra is starting to piece everything together, which is a good thing. Can't keep the poor girl in the dark forever, can we?

 **starthedetective:** I am absolutely fascinated by your theory. Unfortunately I can't confirm or deny, or even hint if you're getting warm, but I do love to hear your thoughts nevertheless. A good theory developed by a reader is always a welcome surprise, because it helps me get into your thoughts for once instead of it always being the other way around. :D

 **Momochan77:** You did miss something, I'm afraid. But even if you didn't quite figure it out, that's okay, because it's a topic/issue that's going to be discussed in-depth later on (though it's brought up again briefly in this chapter, so you might have an "aha!" moment while you read).

Please enjoy everyone!

* * *

Trembling, Jack shook his head vigorously, even though nobody else could see the negation. Squashed inside the sack, he pressed his hands over his ears and declared hastily, "I don't want to hear it! I don't need to hear it! I already know all about it!"

"About what, eh?" Bunny questioned, his voice sounding incredibly muffled thanks to Jack's attempts to deafen himself. "Be specific."

By the moon, he was really gonna make him say it? Jack's lip quivered. "You…you want me to get picked. I heard you tell Tooth I _ought_ to be picked."

"You didn't hear properly, Jack."

Wait. Was that…Tooth Fairy? Jack withdrew his fingers just enough to discern that it was, indeed, Tooth talking right now.

"You didn't hear everything Bunny said," she was saying, "so you completely misunderstood."

A tendril of hope bubbled up inside of Jack even as he shook his head again. "No. No I heard it, Tooth." Oh great, he was starting to cry again. Icy tears welled up in his eyes and his voice sounded choked, so the others undoubtedly knew he was starting to get emotional. It was deeply humiliating, but he pressed on nonetheless. "I heard it clearly, every last bit." Quoting the Pooka verbatim, and even attempting to match the accent (though, admittedly, he was doing a really bad job of it), he recited, "'Me and Jack, we ain't even on the same level. Look at everything he's done, take a real good look, then compare that to me. Between the two of us, it's obvious who deserves to get picked.'"

Jack shook his head for the third time, his snow-white hair scuffing against the thick cloth of the sack as he did so. Returning to his normal voice, he stated grimly, "I don't need to be a genius to figure out what that means."

"You just don't get it, do you mate?" Bunny said exasperatedly. "You only heard the tail of what I said! I _also_ said that the ankle biter's background makes sense, that someone like her would be good at giving kids hope 'cause she knows full well what hopelessness and loneliness feel like!"

A frown pulled at the corners of the frost spirit's mouth. He finally lowered his hands from his ears as he thought:

… _really?_

" _That's_ why you misunderstood," Bunnymund declared with an angry huff. "When I said one of us ought to be picked, that the decision was practically made, I meant _I_ was the one gonna get it, not you! But you didn't give me a chance to explain, did ya? Nah, you went all snowstorms and ice showers and took off before I could get a proper word in!"

"R-really?" Jack stammered. His tears broke free, a massive dam of emotion released at last. Struggling not to sob, he wiped his face on the sleeves of his hoodie, making a huge mess. "Really? You aren't lying to me?"

"I'll rip my own tooth out and let you take a look at my memories, if that's what it takes to get you to believe me," Bunny stated firmly.

That conviction sealed it for Jack. Immense relief washed over him, and he buried his face in his hands as he sobbed and laughed at the same time. It was several minutes before he could form intelligible words again.

"Thanks guys!" he finally managed around hiccups. "I mean it, thank you! I'm so sorry I took off, I just couldn't bear the thought of—"

"Of us getting sick of you? I know."

Sniffing and wiping his face again, Jack eyed the red lining of North's sack. "What do you mean?"

There was a pause. Then:

"Pitch told me you're scared we'll get sick of you," Bunny said very, very quietly. "He said your biggest fear is that we'll regret accepting you as a Guardian and throw you away."

A shiver of guilt-tinged fear snaked down Jack's spine. "You saw Pitch?" he whispered. "When?"

"Last night. I was looking for you, mate. I figured you'd try and convince the ankle biter to pick you, so I sprung over to Burgess." His voice…why was it getting quieter and quieter? "Pitch held me up so I couldn't get to you. By the time I got there, you were already gone."

"He didn't hurt you did he?" Jack queried with genuine concern. If Pitch had used his plight to take advantage and hurt Bunny, he'd never forgive the shadow sneaking snake!

"Nah. Nah he didn't hurt me."

Hearing the inevitable (albeit unspoken) 'but' in there, Jack prompted, "But…"

Bunnymund heaved a heavy sigh. "Listen, Jack. Before you see this I gotta let you know—"

"See what?" Jack interrupted, his growing alarm getting the better of him. "Bunny what happened? Did Pitch hurt you? Is he okay Tooth? Is he all right?"

"Listen to me," Bunny insisted, though he didn't raise his voice. "I need you to understand that none of this is your fault. I made the choice, I did what I did of my own free will and there was nothing you could've done to stop it."

"What are you saying?" Panic crept into the frost spirit's voice. "What happened to you?!"

"I mean it Jack," the Pooka firmly insisted. " _None_ of this is your fault. So if you start blaming yourself over my decisions, I'm gonna kick you 'til you see sense. Understand?"

Something that sounded very much like North's distinctive chuckle confused Jack immensely. What in Moon's name was so funny about this?! Even more surprising was how Bunny muttered, "It ain't funny," as if telling the big man off for laughing. Only instead of sounding mad or irritated, the Pooka sounded…tired, resigned almost.

Huh?

To Jack, the Guardian of Hope reiterated, "We're gonna let you out now. But don't you dare start making this about you. Got it?"

Jack nodded before he remembered that none of his friends could see him. "Yeah," he promised. "Yeah I got it."

Rustling and shifting alerted him to the fact that the sack's large drawstrings were being undone. As soon as the bag was pulled open, Jack leapt out, doing a tight flip to pull completely clear of the stifling red sack. He landed right next to Phil, who avoided his brief but icy look by staring innocently up at the ceiling.

They were in the Warren, Jack realized, which surprised him. Why hadn't they gone back to the Pole? That was where the Guardians usually met, as Bunny didn't really like having anyone else in the Warren. Something about a Pooka needing his peace and privacy was the explanation he usually came up with, although Jack was certain he only ever used that excuse on him.

Speaking of Pookas, where was Bunny? Jack looked around, and when he finally spotted him his mouth dropped open.

" _Bunny_?"

"Yeah, it's me," the tiny Pooka reported. Ears drawn back against his head, his feet shuffled as he sadly eyed the ground (which at this point was only about six inches from his face). He was so small he barely reached the low-hovering Tooth's ankles, and if North wasn't careful the big Russian would squash him with one careless misstep. Jack could see now why the big man found it funny that Bunny had said he'd kick sense into him; he'd been kicked in the shins by the miniaturized Guardian before, and those blows hadn't hurt one bit. Tooth and North stood on either side of the Pooka, almost like protectors, which only made Sandy's absence all the more apparent.

"What happened?" Jack rasped, as his throat suddenly felt incredibly dry. "Did Pitch do this?"

"Not Pitch," North rumbled sadly.

"Not this time," Bunny confirmed.

He hopped forward, and Jack squatted low so he was nearly eye-level with the miniature Pooka.

"Listen, Jack," he told the frost spirit, emerald eyes still fixed upon the ground, "I got to Fisher's house right after you left. I knew you'd asked her to pick you, and that just didn't sit right with me. For many reasons."

"Bunny…" Jack began, but the Pooka quieted him by placing his tiny paws on his knee. Looking up at last, Bunnymund met Jack's gaze with large, solemn eyes.

"It wasn't just about the misunderstanding," he quietly explained. "And it wasn't just because you'd asked to be picked. It…it was a lot of things, really. Mostly I couldn't stand the fact that we were all in danger, you especially. You've done nothing but help us, and I've never really offered any appreciation. Instead of telling you I'm grateful for what you do, I only get mad when you screw up, and that ain't fair 'cause you ain't the only one who makes stupid decisions. Besides," he murmured, "compared to the rest of us, you're the best Guardian by far. You reminded us of what it truly means to work for the children. I ain't never had fun with a kid before that night with Sophie. I'd never even _touched_ a kid before her. I just…I don't know, thought doing the googies and giving them hope would be enough. Interacting with them directly just never crossed my mind. But for you it was never a question. The kids came first, always, for everything. But I didn't even get that 'til that whole mess with Pitch. 'Til then, I just figured you were a no-good invisible, that the kids wouldn't believe in you so you did whatever you could to get some sort of attention."

Jack winced. Seeing it, Bunny assured him, "It wasn't right for me to believe that, and I've always felt bad for it. I mean if it weren't for you, none of us would even be here right now. We'd have all been forgotten and the kids would be in the middle of another Dark Ages. By every last breath in my body, Jack, out of the five of us you're the one who _least_ deserves to get picked. To hell with what Issitoq and Fisher say."

Jack gaped at him, wholly unable to respond to such a profoundly moving speech. His ice-blue gaze flicked to the others, and from the small smiles on their faces he realized both Tooth and North agreed with everything Bunnymund had just said.

 _They mean it,_ he thought with amazement. _All this time I thought they hated me, that they wanted me to be picked, but really…really they think I_ don't _deserve it._

It was such a tremendously profound moment Jack simply couldn't compare it to anything except the instant Jamie Bennett looked at him and saw him for the very first time. The surprise, the wonder, the intense relief and overpowering jubilation…it filled him to the absolute brim, just as it had back then. Tears welled up in his eyes for the second time that night, only this time they were from happiness rather than pain. Bunnymund saw, and he, too, smiled.

But then Jack realized something.

"So how come you're so small?"

The smile vanished as Bunny flinched. Guilt washed over his features, tiny shoulders slumping although he didn't remove his paws from Jack's knee.

"Listen kid," he said, once more failing to meet Jack's penetrating stare. "I did what I had to do. It was the only way to make sure everyone was safe."

"Even me?"

"Especially you."

"What did you do?" Jack questioned. He wracked his brain, but apart from the loss of hope he simply couldn't think of any reason why Bunnymund would become so diminutive.

Unless…

"Did Pitch file grievance?"

Bunny shook his head, muttering under his breath, "He didn't have to."

Jack frowned. Then his eyes grew enormous.

"No," he breathed. "No, you _didn't_!"

"I had to! She was gonna pick you unless I did _something_ to—"

"So you _attacked_ her?!"

In his anger, Jack leapt to his feet, effectively shaking Bunny off of him in the process. He backed up a few steps, clutching to his staff as he shook with rage.

"You attacked her," he hissed. "You attacked her when you know this isn't her fault!"

"Of course it ain't her fault! But I had no other way to make sure she wouldn't pick you!"

"Of course there were ways! You could've simply asked her like I did!"

"I _tried_! But she hates me, Jack! She told me right to my face she'd never pick me for anything, even if it was for something bad!"

Jack's chest heaved beneath his hoodie as he struggled to stay his wrath. His magic always went wild when he grew emotional, and the last thing he needed was to douse the Warren in ice or snow. The Pooka would probably deserve it, but still…

"Did you hurt her?" he asked in sharp undertones.

In spite of the guilt he clearly felt, Bunny did not look away. "Yes."

"How badly?"

"Some bruises, a couple of scratches…and I think a concussion."

Jack swelled with anger, a thick white cloud forming around him, threatening to blanket the rabbit spirit's realm in wintery white even as a layer of ice formed around his bare feet.

"You shouldn't have done that," he hissed. "You should _never_ hurt a child! Never!"

"Of course not," Bunny responded earnestly. "You think I don't know that, Jack? You think the fact that I hurt her doesn't claw at me? It does! I feel right sick just thinking about it! But there was no other way. We've all tried reasoning with her, I flat-out tried to convince her to choose me, but she _just doesn't listen_. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Leave her be," Jack suggested in a dark tone. " _That's_ what you should have done!"

"And have her pick you? Not on my life," he replied just as firmly. "What I did was horrible, but at least it's between Pitch and me now. That's all I wanted out of this. And even if she doesn't pick me…" He shuddered but pressed on. "Even if she doesn't pick me, I'll still get my comeuppance. I'm already being punished, Jack, and it's only going to get worse for me before this is over."

His voice grew very soft. "It's fine that you're angry with me—I didn't expect you to be happy about it. I know what I did is unforgiveable. But I still chose to do it because I believe it was the right thing to do. I would do anything for you four. Anything. That's why I don't regret it."

Jack glared down at the tiny Pooka as turbulent thoughts tumbled about inside his head: he was furious that Bunny had hurt a child; deeply hurt that he was partially responsible for the Pooka taking such drastic action; shaken by the fact that such a thought would even cross the Guardian's mind; surprised that Bunnymund felt so strongly for his friends that he'd literally do anything for them; humbled by the fact that Bunny had quite literally sacrificed himself for the rest of the group; and, above all, flabbergasted that he actually…sort of…understood.

 _What he did…I hate it,_ he thought viciously, _but that's who Bunny is. He is loyal to a fault, but that's part of what makes him so proud and stubborn. Conviction drives him like almost nothing else—if he thinks it's the right thing to do, he'll do it, even if everyone else thinks he's being a fool._

Blue eyes flicked up to the others. Tooth and North had remained utterly silent throughout the entire exchange, allowing Bunny and Jack the time and space to settle the matter without outside interference. They looked enormously sad, especially North, yet Jack could not help but notice that the two of them had purposefully positioned themselves behind Bunnymund. It was clear from their expressions that they didn't approve of what had happened, but they were standing by their friend nonetheless.

"Where's Sandy?" Jack grunted. He wanted to know what the Guardian of Dreams thought of all of this.

"He's gone to speak to Cassandra," Tooth quietly informed him.

"He knows what I did," Bunny said, having guessed what was on Jack's mind. "He ain't happy about it, either, but he's willing to forgive me."

"I'm not," Jack said coldly, making Bunny wince. "I'm never going to forgive you for this. And if you do anything like this ever again, I swear by the moon I'll make it storm on Easter every year for the rest of eternity, no matter who gets picked!"

Bunny stared at him for a moment, shocked, before an enormous smile broke out over his tiny Pookan face. "I can live with that, 'cause I _ain't_ gonna do it again," he swore. Looking immensely relieved, he added a humble, "Thanks mate."

"Don't thank me," Jack warned. "I'm still mad at you."

"I can see that," he replied wryly, eyeing the thick blue ice that had spread to mere millimeters of his furry rabbit toes. "Just don't freeze the dye pools, mate. It's a real pain getting the viscosity right, and the paint's plain ruined if it gets cold."

The corner of Jack's mouth curled into a wicked smile. "I'll remember that," he said, and Bunny slapped himself on the forehead as he realized he'd just handed the frost spirit a vital piece of information for future mischief-making.

"All settled then?" North questioned hesitantly, and Jack offered the big man a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, North." He glanced down at the tiny Pooka. "I think we're good."

He and Tooth both let out sighs of relief. The fairy flew forward to offer Jack a hug, which he readily accepted.

"We'll get through this," she assured him once they broke apart. "Issitoq said we had to be careful not to let the rite destroy us, and it's sure as heck trying to," she said with a nervous laugh.

"It ain't helping that Pitch is taking advantage of that," Bunny put in. He allowed North to scoop him up as the big man strode forward to join Jack and Tooth. Sitting on the large open palm, he was now about shoulder-level with the others and could more easily take part in the conversation.

"Do you know what he's up to?" Jack questioned.

"Yeah. He's trying to divide and conquer us. He wants you to get picked 'cause he considers you the strongest, especially with your connection to the ankle biters. That and he's still sore about what happened last time," he added in a mutter before continuing in a normal tone of voice. "Anyway, he's trying to get Fisher in our group so she can spy on us, take us out from the middle. It'll be easier to do that if you're the one she picks 'cause then she won't have to contend with your magic and your fun."

"And he'll get the 'cold and dark' he always wanted," Jack deduced. His pale face pulled into a glower. "Why can't he just let that go?"

"Don't know. It's just the way Pitch is, I guess."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Right now Pitch thinks he's got the upper hand," Tooth explained. "As far as he knows, you're still hiding out somewhere thinking we hate you and Bunny's trapped here thanks to Issitoq's judgment. In his mind, he's worn us down to three."

"How long are you stuck here?" Jack asked of the Pooka.

"'Til further notice," he mumbled, head hanging in shame.

"So we're down one either way."

"Yes," North agreed. "But we have you back. Pitch does not know this."

"And we're gonna keep it that way," Bunny said, his spirits lifting faster than a rising wind. "As long as he believes you're out of it, we'll have the element of surprise."

"You think he's going to attack us?"

"I know he will. It's just a matter of when. He may try to take Sandy out before making a direct move, like last time, or he might just wait 'til after Fisher picks and take us on while we're all down and miserable. Either way, it's gonna happen; the number of mares he's gathered is proof of that."

"And without Bunny, will be more difficult for us to stop him," North commented.

"So what do we do?"

"It'll be better for us to act before Cassandra picks," Tooth told Jack. "There's a small chance she may wind up choosing Pitch, but I'm afraid we can't rely on that. We're going to have to take a page out of the Boogeyman's book and take nothing short of a guarantee."

When Jack cocked his head in confusion, Bunny clarified, "He's been playing nice to ensure she won't pick him, so we're gonna have to assume that she won't. Stopping him before she has the chance to plant herself within the Guardians is the most logical thing to do, since it'll render this whole scheme of his useless."

Tooth nodded her head as she supplied, "Overconfidence weakened him last time. We can make it happen again."

"We'll lure him out," Bunny continued. "We'll make everyone, including Fisher, believe that you and I are out of the game, that the Guardians are helplessly divided. If we play it right, it'll be too much for Pitch to possibly resist. When he takes up scythe and mares against Sandy, North and Tooth, you take him by surprise. With the kids' belief backing you, Jack, you'll be unstoppable."

On the surface, it sounded like a good plan, but Jack could detect at least one possible problem.

"How do we get him to come out of hiding? Subterfuge has always worked out better for Pitch than direct action, so it's gonna take some serious convincing to get him to bite. If he doesn't completely believe it he'll know we're trying to trap him, and then he'll wonder why."

"The timing will have to be flawless," Tooth acknowledged, "but we've had a long talk about it. We'll wait for an opportune moment, probably sometime after Cassandra speaks to Issitoq but before the set date of her choosing, and the three of us will go to Burgess under the pretense of searching for you one more time. He'll inevitably notice our presence and come take a look. We'll start arguing over something ridiculous, which will eventually blow up into a huge row over you being missing and Bunny being punished and who's at fault for everything falling apart." A mischievous grin took over her pale face. "If he thinks we're irreparably divided, he won't hesitate to take out as many of us as he can while he can. It'll be too tempting."

Completely dumbfounded, Jack stared from one Guardian to the next. "You guys came up with this plan?" He could scarcely believe it. "The three of you?"

"Pretty good, no?" North said proudly.

Grinning, the frost spirit inferred, "You're idea, huh?"

"Though Bunny's comment was what gave it to him," Tooth said with a laugh. "He said something flippant about using himself as mare bait, seeing as how he isn't much good for anything else now that he's small."

Bunny grunted. Remembering the time a Nightmare had stuffed itself under a car to drag the Pooka out by his tail, only to come away with a fully grown Guardian, Jack snickered.

"It ain't funny," Bunny grumbled. Jack placated the pouting Pooka with a good scratch behind the ear.

"It's a good plan," he commented, grinning hugely as Bunny began reflexively thumping his foot against North's palm. With a gasp, the Guardian of Hope remembered himself and pushed Jack's hand away with a growl.

"Quit that."

"Ah, Sandy," North said suddenly, cutting Jack off before he could get the Pooka really riled up. They both turned to see that Sandy was, indeed, floating towards them.

"How was it?" Tooth asked before anyone else could speak. Hovering just above the ground, her wings beating rapidly, she pressed, "Did it go well? How is Cassandra?"

Sandy assured her it had gone well, that Cassandra was a bit battered but otherwise unharmed. North and Tooth were relieved to hear the news. Bunny, on the other hand, looked incredibly guilty, and Jack pursed his lips though he managed to keep his anger in check this time.

But then the Guardian of Dreams told them all something none of them had expected.

"What?" North gasped.

A heartbeat later, Bunny uttered, "You think you know why Issitoq's invoked the rite?" Surprise was deeply entrenched in every accented syllable.

"How?" Tooth asked quickly. "How did you find out?"

 _Cassandra._

Bunny's ears twitched as he frowned. "How'd she know? Issitoq hasn't explained to her yet."

 _I don't think she realizes it herself—it was something she brought up while we were discussing another topic entirely. But it makes sense nevertheless._

"What were you discussing?" North questioned.

 _Pitch Black._

"Great," Jack mumbled. Bunny likewise scoffed, but North's dark brows lifted in mild surprise.

"Pitch Black?" he repeated before inquiring, "What did she say?"

Sandy hesitated.

"What?" Jack asked. Then he joked, "Can't you remember?"

 _I remember._

"Then what was it?"

Again the Guardian hesitated.

"Come on, mate, if you remember then just spit it out," Bunnymund said impatiently from atop North's palm.

 _I don't think I can._

"Why not?" Tooth asked with concern.

 _I promised Cassandra I would not share our discussions unless she said it was okay._

"Come on, Sandy, this is _Pitch_ we're talking about," Jack said with a small laugh. Waving his hand dismissively, he reiterated, "It's not like we're discussing her private life or something."

But the Guardian of Dreams was adamant. _I cannot. Sorry._

"Why'd she say you couldn't talk about it?" Bunny asked.

 _She didn't say it…exactly._

"Huh?"

Looking incredibly sheepish, Sandy admitted, _I forgot to ask._

Throwing his paws into the air with a loud groan, Bunny complained, "Aw, come on mate! How in the name of Moon did you forget?!"

 _Her caretaker suddenly awoke. It was a hasty departure._

"Well, be sure to ask her next time. You can't just drop on us that you know something important then leave us all hanging!"

 _Sorry…_

"At least you know," North said, placing his Pooka-free hand on Sandy's shoulder. Smiling down at the small yellow man, he told the group, "This is one step closer, yes? Sandy knows, and we will all know soon enough. Now we focus on stopping Pitch."

They quickly summed up the plan for Sandy, who nodded in agreement.

 _I agree. Pitch must be stopped before Cassandra chooses. It's safer that way._

But then the yellow man frowned. Sensing his obvious hesitation, Jack asked quizzically, "What?"

 _It's just…_

"Just what?"

Sandy said nothing.

"Come on, mate, don't go quiet now," Bunny encouraged. A thought struck him. "Or does this have to do with that stuff Fisher told you?"

With a grimace, Sandy nodded again. Struggling to explain himself without breaking his promise, he offered, _It's a good backup plan…_

His symbols faded away before he could finish the thought, prompting Jack to speak the inevitable, "Buuut…?"

With a frustrated gesture, Sandy told him, _But I cannot condone it until we discuss what Cassandra told me._

Bunnymund barked, "Then go on back and get her permission now. What's stopping you?"

Sorely tempted to roll his eyes, Jack found himself smothering a smirk. Even in his tiny form, the Pooka was as feisty as ever.

 _She's had too much to deal with already tonight. Tomorrow I will go._

Bunny groaned, but acquiesced. "Fine, fine. But first thing tomorrow!"

With a brisk nod to the others, he leapt off North's hand and bounded off into the Warren. Jack shook his head as he watched the miniature Pooka go. Under his breath, he commented, "He's something else."

North overheard.

"That he is, my friend," he agreed with a rumbling chuckle. "That he is."

* * *

In spite of her exhaustion, it took quite a while for Cassandra to fall asleep. Part of the problem was that she was still very worried over Barb's proposed living arrangement; just how the hell was she supposed to get along with life now, with the over-observant woman hovering over her shoulder? Then there was the fact that as she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, mulling over her conversation with the dream weaver, she suddenly realized something: she'd had to guess that Pitch Black had been strongest during the Dark Ages, and had even asked the dream weaver why the Guardians hadn't stopped him sooner, when she shouldn't have had to do either. Mr. Bennett had told her about both events, hadn't he? During that aggravating lunch conversation over tuna sandwiches, Mr. Bennett had explained all about Pitch Black's little foray into supremacy and how it had prompted the formation of the Guardians. As soon as she remembered, Cassandra wanted to slap herself for her own stupidity, but forwent the action due to her bruises and lingering headache. She must have a concussion after all, for her to completely forget something so important (not to mention obvious).

Well, as long as nobody told the Guardians what Mr. Bennett had discussed with her that afternoon in the restaurant, it wasn't like anyone else was going to know, right?

Still, it was _extremely_ embarrassing.

Rolling over onto her right side (the slightly less damaged side of her body), Cassandra finally managed to doze off. It was about damn time too—it had to be three or four a.m. at least.

But Cassandra Fisher didn't get a restful sleep that morning. No sooner had she dozed off, she found herself standing in a completely foreign landscape.

 _Great. Somebody's fucking with my dreams again…_

It was obviously a dream, though not one of her own design. While the visions she created for herself were not intricate by any means, this one was exceptionally lackluster. It was hazy around the edges, making everything outside Cassandra's immediate vicinity appear blurry and out-of-focus, and while the ground she stood on was predominantly white and gold, both colors were extremely subdued. It was like she'd been transported into the center of a smudged painting that had never been properly started. Apart from the weird blotchy colors, there was absolutely nothing around.

Odd…

Odder still, the atmosphere in this dream was not pleasant at all. It was thick and heavy, and there was a deep sense of foreboding building within Cassandra's stomach. The only other time she'd felt like this was her first night in Burgess, when she found herself ensnared within Pitch Black's nightmare.

That was never a good sign.

Heaving a sigh, she called into the emptiness, "Okay, enough of this. I'd really like to get some sleep."

Silence.

"Come on!" she complained, crossing her arms angrily. "This had better not be you, Dream Weaver, or _you_ Pitch Black! I'm dead serious!"

Again, silence.

Rapidly losing patience—and with it, her rationality—Cassandra shouted into the dream, "Just come out and talk to me you coward!"

As the echoes of her frustrated cry faded away, her sensitive ears picked up something. Something incredibly odd.

A whimper.

Peering around, Cassandra turned in a full circle, but could neither see nor smell nor sense anything. Just what the heck was going o—?

"Help…"

Cassandra spun around. Where there had been nothing but emptiness before, there was now a lone figure slumped on the smudged gold-and-white ground. It shivered and wept, clutching its face in its hands. Its back was to her, so she couldn't tell for sure precisely who—or what—it was. It looked human, but of course, with the spirit world (and dreams in particular), nothing was ever certain.

"Hello?" Cassandra asked hesitantly. After a few moments spent listening to the quivering figure's weak sobs, she edged a bit closer, moving one tiny, tentative step at a time. "Who are you?"

"Help…" the figure whispered again.

Help? Help with what? There wasn't anything here, just this pathetic creature and the empty, dreary dreamscape.

Choking on tears, the figure begged, "Help me…please…"

Despite the definite weirdness of the situation—or perhaps _because_ of it—Cassandra stated coldly, "Help with what? There's nothing here, just get up and go." She hated pathetic people, especially ones who feigned helplessness just to get sympathy. Even in a dream she simply wouldn't stand for such a thing.

The figure stopped moving. After a moment, it lifted its head but still didn't turn around. Cassandra scoffed.

 _See? This is what happens when spirits don't know who they're trying to fuck w—_

She pulled back sharply, stunned, her brown eyes growing positively enormous as the figure finally turned to look at her.

"Please…" the other Cassandra Fisher pleaded. "I'm scared…"


	14. Help Me

Author's Note:

Welcome back, everyone, and thank you for your patience. To all those who read, favorite and/or followed my story since last posting, my sincerest gratitude.

 **starthedetective:** You're right, a bit of irony certainly doesn't hurt anyone, though in this case I don't think it's appreciated very much. ;) Hopefully this chapter gives you a bit more to ponder over. Maybe some new theories? :D

 **WinterCrystal1009:** This update's a bit late, considering I try to do a post a week, but hopefully the wait wasn't too hard on you. You seem so very excited, and I like that.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** So many questions! Maybe this chapter will help answer them? Maybe? ;)

 **Momochan77:** Welcome back! Glad to hear you liked it, and no worries about the delayed review. As I said, I'm a bit late myself on this posting so I can't judge. Life happens sometimes. :)

Potentially disturbing imagery in this chapter! You've been warned.

Please enjoy!

* * *

Cassandra stared stupidly at her dream-self, this… _other_ Cassandra Fisher which looked like her and even sounded just like her but acted nothing like her at all. Never in her entire life had she ever been this weak and pathetic, so what right did the meddlesome spirit who created this dream have to taunt her this way?

Clenching her jaw, she spoke between her teeth. "What are you scared of? There's nothing here."

"Please…" the Other wept, eyes large and pleading. "Please help me."

"Help with _what_?" she demanded to know. "There's _nothing_!"

The Other's face fell. "You don't see…" it whispered. Staring at the ground, it whispered again, "You don't see…"

"See what?"

Very quietly, dejectedly, as if speaking to itself, it muttered, "Nobody sees…nobody ever sees…"

"Sees _what_?" Cassandra snapped.

Again she was ignored.

"I thought you would see…that you would understand…" Ever so slowly, it lifted its head to fix its gaze upon Cassandra. Sounding immensely perplexed now, but no less miserable, it wondered aloud, " _Why_ don't you understand?"

"Probably because everyone thinks it's funny to keep me in the dark by speaking in riddles and half-truths," she hissed caustically, making the Other wince.

"But you're the arbiter," it wailed. "You're _supposed to help me_!"

A deep, rumbling sound echoed in Cassandra's sensitive ears. She clapped her hands over them to stave off the noise, but not before she caught the distant, bone-chilling resonance of taunting laughter. It wasn't Pitch Black's distinctive chuckle, nor was it any other voice that she recognized; had it come from the spirit who'd shaped this so-called "dream"?

The Other seemed to hear it, too, for its face twisted with terror and despair until the menacing sound had dissipated. Then it crumbled into a heap before Cassandra. Curled into a cowering a ball, hands clutching at its brown hair, it wept loudly into its own knees.

"Why won't you help me?" it choked around a broken sob. "Why won't anyone help me?"

"Probably because this is a dream and isn't real," Cassandra supplied stiffly. She hoped she woke up quickly; this conversation was growing exceptionally tedious, and those wails were giving her a pounding headache.

The Other continued to mutter to itself, and though its voice was muffled by its legs Cassandra inevitably overheard.

"No one ever believes me… No one… Just when I think someone will understand, they turn their back on me…"

Utterly sick of what she perceived to be the nonsensical rambling of an annoying spirit, Cassandra called loudly into the nothingness of the dreamscape, "Enough! I want to wake up now, if you don't mind!"

" **WHY DON'T YOU BELIEVE ME?!"**

That shriek nearly deafened her, the venom spat from those words shocking her like nothing else ever had. Cassandra leapt back, her heart in her throat, as the Other lunged towards her with a strength and ferocity wholly unimaginable from such a seemingly helpless creature. It stopped short mere feet from her, yanked to a halt by thick black chains that appeared from nothing, binding it by the wrists to the very ground upon which it had sat weeping mere moments ago.

Face twisted with a toxic mixture of hatred, fury, and despair, the Other screamed, "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER BELIEVE ME?! WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER HELP ME?! WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!"

It thrashed against the chains, ruthlessly wrenching its arms until blood poured freely, splattering the ground and dying it a sickening reddish-black. The bindings did not give, not one single inch, and all the while the relentless Other continued to berate Cassandra in a throat-tearing screech.

"I'VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG! I'VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO DO! WHY DOESN'T ANYONE SEE THAT?! WHY WON'T ANYONE HELP ME?!"

Exhausted and in pain, its sudden burst of energy appeared to drain as quickly as it had come. The Other slumped back, dropping hard onto its bottom on the smudged white-gold ground. As soon as it did so, the black chains and manacles binding it flickered and vanished away, but the fresh wounds at its wrists still remained, testament to its suffering.

Stunned into silence, Cassandra stared open-mouthed while it sat there panting heavily.

"Why won't you help me?" it gasped bleakly. "I thought you were supposed to help me…" It put its face in its hands. "I guess I was wrong… I'm always wrong…it isn't fair…"

It drew a long, shuddering breath that it released again in a short burst, one that wasn't (quite) a sob.

"It isn't fair," it repeated weakly, and that was when Cassandra Fisher woke up.

Staring through the hospital window at the bleak morning sunlight, Cassandra struggled to comprehend what had just happened. What sort of dream was that? Was it even a dream? It certainly hadn't been a nightmare, for she'd been startled and confused and annoyed rather than scared, and there was no way it had been a simple fabrication of her own subconscious mind, either.

 _Somebody's fucking with me,_ she concluded. _But who?_

That was the real mystery, wasn't it? If she knew who was behind that weird vision then she would probably be able to surmise their motives, but she didn't know of any spirit who could manipulate dreams apart from the yellow Guardian and Pitch Black, and this didn't appear to be the work of either of them. Even ifthe former had found some way to make his sand work on her, the dream was simply too morbid, and while it was certainly sadistic and taunting enough for the latter, it just didn't seem to fit the Nightmare King's style. His nightmares were always simple and straightforward: darkness and growing dread for the little ones, terror and an odd assortment of monsters for the older. A pretty crude formula, all things considered, but it served Pitch's purpose. He fed on the fear his nightmares created, so the more children he scared the more powerful he became, meaning quantity rather than quality was what truly mattered to him. (Oddly enough, the dream weaver followed a very similar pattern: with so many children to give dreams to each night, his creations were often rather simplistic. Dinosaurs, fish or birds, children's games or playground antics…nothing at all elaborate, most of the time. Realizing this only cemented Cassandra's earlier assumption that the Guardians were being exceptionally hypocritical in their treatment of the so-called Boogeyman.)

In any case, something of this nature just didn't to fit either spirit. So if it wasn't one of them tormenting her, who could it be?

Checkout was a complete blur. Cassandra was so lost in her thoughts, she hardly paid it any attention, and by the time she realized she was already out of the building and sitting in Barb's car, they were pulling out of the parking lot. Staring through the window at the various homes and businesses of a quiet, early-morning Burgess, she contemplated her next step. Should she ask the dream weaver about the vision? She very well couldn't ask Pitch Black—he'd either laugh at her, or lie, or both. Probably both, especially if it turned out he was the one behind it in spite of the evidence to the contrary.

But if the dream weaver was the culprit, wouldn't he lie also? Surely if he'd taken the time and effort to not only figure out a way to make his magic work on her, but to actually shape such a twisted dream, it wouldn't bother him much to lie about it.

Then again, what cause would the dream weaver have to torment her like that? He didn't seem the sort to stoop to such a thing, and as a Guardian wasn't he forbidden from using his power like that in the first place? True, such rules hadn't stopped the stupid Easter Bunny from attacking her, but she doubted this Issitoq spirit—who, quite frankly, was starting to sound more and more like some sort of morbid stalker than any true spirit of justice—would stand for two oath-breakers from the Guardians of Childhood. Besides, she was being carefully watched now, wasn't she? Issitoq had those gross Eye things keeping tabs on her, and the dream weaver knew that, so wouldn't that make him a complete and utter fool if he tried to hurt or manipulate her?

She slumped sideways against the car door, her forehead bumping lightly against the cool window. She wanted to sigh, but stifled it so Barb wouldn't ask questions. In spite of the lingering risk that she was about to interrogate the very perpetrator of last night's warped vision, Cassandra knew speaking to the dream weaver was by far the best chance she had of gaining answers. The odds of him being the culprit were incredibly small, after all, and he was far more likely than Pitch Black to provide her with a reasonable response.

 _I'll have to send a messenger to him as soon as I get a moment alone._

As she feared, getting that moment alone proved much harder now that Barb had taken charge of her. When they got back to the duplex, the blonde checked to make sure Randy wasn't home before escorting her inside to collect her things.

"Make sure you grab everything," she advised as Cassandra stuffed her coat into her duffel bag, which had never been properly unpacked in the first place. "You're not coming back here for anything, with or without me."

Nodding her understanding, Cassandra made one final sweep of the house, snagging her toothbrush from the bathroom and checking to make sure her iPod was still in her backpack. It was. So was the cloak Pitch had "gifted" her, stuffed into the bottom of the largest zipper pocket beneath her track uniform and math book. She'd kept it there so it would be with her at all times, for she didn't trust her dad not to go through her stuff while she wasn't around, especially with all the drinking he'd been doing lately. And now that she thought about it…would Barb go looking through her bags? True, the woman had respected her privacy impeccably thus far, but that didn't mean she wouldn't start taking exception now that they were to live together, especially after what happened last night.

 _She's already told me point-blank that she thinks I'm keeping secrets from her,_ she reasoned as she followed Barb out of Randy's house, lugging her half-full duffel bag and backpack along with her. _If she gets it in her head that these 'secrets' were behind my injuries, like…I don't know, like gang affiliation or something, she may start snooping in an effort to dissuade me._

Cassandra's jaw tightened. She couldn't afford to take that risk. She'd have to find a place for the cloak, and quickly.

Entering Barb's half of the duplex felt significantly different this time compared to all the times before. Heavier, almost, as if the weight of recent events quite literally bore down upon their shoulders, and it really hit Cassandra then that this was no simple visit. The painted walls and lingering cooking smells and incessant yapping from the mongrel Barney were all the same, but there was an immense air of awkwardness settling between her and the blonde that hadn't existed in the past. For her part, Barb was doing her best to act as if nothing were out of the ordinary, that this was just another visit and not a matter of her taking charge of a twelve-year-old child whom she'd known for only a few short months. But it only made the situation more uncomfortable. Their relationship was strained to bursting with unanswered questions, to say nothing of the fact that living together was certainly much different from visiting or spending the night from time-to-time.

Barb could pretend as long as she liked; Cassandra knew nothing would ever be the same between them again.

 _It won't last forever, this arrangement. I'll give her a month or two tops before she breaks down and starts poking her nose into my affairs. She'll either try to dictate and control me as a means to "protect" me, or she'll try guilt-tripping me into giving her answers about what's going on._

It wouldn't matter which in the end, the result would still be the same. She wouldn't be able to go back to Randy's—the man hadn't given a shit about her since the day she was born, why would he want her back after the "betrayal" of leaving to go live with Barb?—and her mom wouldn't want her back, either, that much was blatantly obvious. The only option left to her, then, would be foster care. Cassandra knew she'd probably loathe being in the system, just as Barb had warned, but what else was she to do? At this point her best course of action would be to settle this spirit world affair sooner rather than later, then focus on getting through to her eighteenth birthday, one way or the other, so she could start living on her own.

 _Just under six years to go,_ she thought with resignation. _I can manage._

It was a Tuesday, but considering her recent trip to the hospital Cassandra had no desire or inclination to attend school. Barb must've been of the same mind, for as Cassandra set down her bags and shoved a yapping Barney aside so she could stick her toothbrush into the holder on the bathroom sink, she overheard the woman talking on the phone. She was telling Ms. Price, the school secretary, that she was sick and wouldn't be coming in today.

Sick. Now there was a lame, overused cliché of an excuse if ever there was one.

She reentered the kitchen just as Barb hung up the call with a simple flick of her thumb on the cell phone screen. With no way of knowing that Cassandra had heard every word of the conversation from across the house, she explained, "I told them you weren't coming in today."

"Okay."

"I called off work last night while you were getting your scans done. Today you need to rest, and for the next few days you'll have to take it easy. You can go back to school tomorrow, but the doctor said no track or P.E. until next week."

"Okay," she repeated. In her apathy, her voice sounded distant and empty. Barb eyed her for a moment. "What?"

"I'm truly starting to wonder if anything ever gets you excited," the woman admitted. There was no condemnation or displeasure in her tone, just a clear note of curiosity and, perhaps, the vaguest hint of sadness.

Cassandra's brows furrowed. "Of course."

"Like what?"

Cassandra said nothing.

"I'm not fishing for information, if that's what you're worried about. I'm simply trying to understand."

She didn't specify what, exactly, she was trying to understand, but Cassandra had her suspicions.

 _She's trying to get into my head, find out what makes me 'tick'._

Such was the first step towards the inevitable end of their cohabitation. Perhaps two months was a bit too generous. Stifling a sigh, Cassandra decided that, if nothing else, this sudden development meant she wouldn't need to unpack her duffel bag anytime soon.

As the silence stretched into a full minute, she could practically see the wheels spinning wildly inside Barb's head as the blonde struggled to figure out what she was thinking.

 _You'll never guess,_ Cassandra thought, _and you'll never understand._

That her propensity for privacy and self-control had kept as intuitive a woman as Barb in the dark for this long should've made Cassandra feel smug with pride, but…strangely…it didn't. Instead she felt nothing but a deep, gut-emptying sadness as it suddenly occurred to her that nobody in her entire life had ever understood her and that, chances were, nobody ever would. Even the spirits of the spirit world couldn't understand her. The dream weaver tried, he truly did, but the poor yellow man had no hope of truly comprehending what it was she went through each and every day. He couldn't even wrap his brain properly around the idea that he and the other Guardians were being hypocritical in their treatment of Pitch Black, and _that_ matter was glaringly apparent whereas Cassandra's personal life was far beyond complicated.

Besides, the dream weaver was a spirit, and she was a human. What reason or need did he have to understand?

Oh. That's right. She had to do this "picking". If she hadn't been chosen to do that, not one of those weirdoes would've paid a single bit of attention to her. In fact, none of this would've happened at all. If not for her wretched powers and her need to conceal them, to act as normal and unassuming as possible, she wouldn't have been so out of place, so isolated, an easy target for harassment. If she hadn't gotten into so much trouble at school, she wouldn't have pissed off her mom to the point of literally throwing her own child away. Hell, if she hadn't been born such a tremendous freak she probably would've had a halfway decent childhood. And even if she'd still been cast off for some reason, odds were she'd be at Randy's right now, bored and alone but blissfully ignored by almost the entire world. Mr. Bennett and Coach Sophie would still be treating her like virtually any other student at school, Barb wouldn't be hanging down her neck so much and they'd probably be enjoying the easy ritual they'd developed with weekend swims and lunches at the deli.

So much potential happiness wasted, all because of the spirit world and their ridiculous rules and stupid fucking interference.

 _Did they not think of me? Of what this would do to me? Did_ anyone _think of me?! Do I not matter at all?!_

"Cassandra?" Barb murmured, concerned, and Cassandra realized only then that she was crying. Treacherous tears slipped silently down her cheeks, mortifying her beyond words. She fled from the kitchen, from Barb, ignoring the pounding in her battered skull as she ran straight for her new room and slammed the door shut.

Sliding the lock home with an audible click, she slumped against the door, wiping at her face again and again.

 _Stop crying. STOP CRYING!_

But the tears just wouldn't stop. Crumbling beneath the weight of such wretched emotions, Cassandra dashed for her backpack. Ripping the zipper back with such force it nearly broke, she dug down through the contents in a brief but furious search for the cloak. She'd sworn the moment she learned of Pitch's treachery that she'd never wear it again, but she couldn't bear to be without it now.

The calm, the peace, the shadows…that was all she could think of.

Tearing the cloak from the bottom of her bag, Cassandra swung it around her shoulders, reveling in the calm that settled about her like a second layer of skin. Not enough. Shoving her backpack aside, she scooted across the floor towards the bed. It was an exceptionally tight fit, but she managed to stuff herself underneath, squeezing in between the floor and the box spring above. It was darker down here, but still not enough. Shutting her eyes tight, she concentrated with all her might. With far more ease than she was used to, she slipped into her shadow sanctuary. Serenity immediately engulfed her, effortlessly washing away her tears and her sorrow. There was no room for pain here, no place at all for sadness or troubles or grief. Here she was just herself, her body filled with breath and her heart filled with blood and her mind filled with unclouded thought.

Here, she was simply and only Cassandra Fisher.

Here, she was free.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, as if hearing it from far, far away and therefore barely registering it, Cassandra heard knocking on her bedroom door followed almost immediately by Barb's concerned voice. She knew she should probably tell the woman that she was fine, that, no, she didn't need help (whatever it was she meant by that), but with a completely rational mind Cassandra ultimately decided that an answer wasn't necessary. Barb was concerned, not stupid—even without a response she would know that her new charge was simply tired and overwhelmed and needed some space.

Sure enough, after hesitating for a few moments outside the door, Barb left, taking her yapping mongrel with her. With a quiet sigh, Cassandra turned her full attention back to the calm and serenity of the shadow sanctuary, welcoming it wholeheartedly as it seeped into her very pores.

She must've fallen asleep, for she soon found herself standing in that smudged white-gold dreamscape again. With a roll of her eyes, Cassandra called out into the echoing silence of the dream: "Are you going to do this to me every time I fall asleep? That's more than a little excessive, don't you think?"

Silence was the only response. A shiver ran down her spine; something wasn't right. She couldn't tell what, precisely, was the matter, as everything looked much the same as it had before, but something… _something_ …was terribly different.

Stiff with dread, Cassandra turned slowly on the spot, hoping against hope that her astute intuition was completely and utterly wrong.

It wasn't.

The moment Cassandra began to move she realized why things felt so different. They _looked_ different. Right before her eyes things had been golden and white, but as soon as she began to turn around the colors faded sharply away, and by the time she'd completed the one-eighty she was faced with a landscape that was black and rotten, dripping with putrid fluids and positively rank with wretched stenches. She almost threw up as her sensitive nose picked up something reminiscent of burnt meat, only much worse, as well as dozens of other things she couldn't even begin to identify.

And there was the Other, chained as it had been before. And it was screaming. Screaming in agony and abject terror as a massive beast of purest shadow ruthlessly tortured it, beating it into the blackened ground with claws and fists and feet. With each strike thick black tendrils swarmed over the Other, crawling over its skin and slithering into its gaping mouth, forcing their way into its ears and nose and straight down its throat. Cassandra's eyes bulged as she saw the Other's neck convulse under the relentless assault of so many blackened things forcing their way down its esophagus. It choked on them, writhed helplessly in pain as it was torn asunder both within and without, yet those snake-like shadows did not relent. No matter how desperately hands grasped and pushed at them, no matter how many were coughed up after they snaked their way down into its gullet, the horrid things all but ignored the Other's fruitless efforts. And all the while, the enormous shadow-beast continued to punish it without mercy.

Over and over and over again Cassandra tried to remind herself that this wasn't real, that this was just a dream, that some wretched spirit out there was trying to fuck with her head…but it was working. By god it was actually working. Seeing someone of her exact likeness tortured in this way churned her stomach and forever burned the horrid memory into the forefront of her mind.

She wanted to wake up. She _needed_ to wake up. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!

There was a brief respite in the assault from the beast, and the Other sobbed its breathless, wordless horror as it struggled weakly to crawl away, black tendrils still clinging to its body. It was only then that it spotted Cassandra standing frozen there, and it's bloodshot, tear-strained eyes momentarily caught and held enormous brown ones.

"Help," it rasped, its voice hoarse from screaming. The beast stomped forward, apparently oblivious to Cassandra's presence. With one massive hand it snagged the Other by the legs, causing it to whimper and beg of Cassandra, "Please help…"

The beast hoisted it high, high above its head, and Cassandra watched as the shadow monster's mouth finally opened. It was a truly massive maw, filled with hundreds upon hundreds of jagged, rotting teeth. The creature stuffed a screaming Other into its throat, pushing it so far down its own fist disappeared before reemerging empty. With a sickening lurch of the stomach, Cassandra caught sight of thrashing from within the beast's belly.

The Other was still alive.

Then, and only then, did the beast turn to look at her. Still rooted to the spot, Cassandra stared into a face which sported hundreds tiny, gleaming yellow eyes and whose lips curled into an enormous, soul-withering leer. It spoke, but Cassandra had no idea what it said or even what language it was speaking. Then it chuckled, a deep, menacing rumble that shook the very ground she stood on, and she knew it must be mocking her.

Suddenly, the beast dissolved, crumbling into thousands upon thousands of miniature clones that raced towards her. She scrambled backward, shouting at them, commanding them to stop, but they did not. Her magic held no sway in this foul place, and the wicked creatures paid no heed to her words.

Within moments she was surrounded.

The swarm of horrid beings latched onto her, making her skin crawl as they scrambled up her legs and reached out with skeletal arms to choke her, to clutch and scratch at her face and neck in furious attempts to force her jaw apart. Her flesh bruised and ached wherever they touched her, her bones threatened to crack as they squeezed her roughly, refusing to let go, her ears rang with their senseless chatters and screaming snarls. In spite of her efforts, they finally succeeded in prying open her mouth, and she shrieked one final, desperate command before the first burning cold limb could stuff itself inside and silence her forever.

" _STOP_!"

With a strangled cry, Cassandra Fisher woke up. She lay there for a long while, marveling at how very calm she felt in spite of the horrific nightmare she'd just witnessed. Her heartbeat was steady, her breaths calm and even, and apart from cricking her neck when she'd jerked awake it didn't appear as if her physical body had responded at all to the horrible vision. Thank goodness for her cloak; if not for that, she was certain she would have screamed, and explaining that to Barb would've been exceptionally embarrassing.

 _What the hell is going on?_ she wondered, staring up at the bottom of her borrowed mattress. She'd never suffered nightmares before. The only dark dreams she'd ever had were the ones Pitch Black inflicted upon her when he wished to communicate, and those had not scared her at all. This particular vision had not only been shocking, it had actually succeeded in frightening her, and she had an exceptionally hard time wrapping her mind around that.

Drawing a deep breath, relying heavily upon the cloak to keep her growing anger and indignation at bay, Cassandra crawled out from under the bed. It was growing more and more apparent that Pitch Black was the likely culprit behind these inexplicable dreams, a conclusion which annoyed her to no end. Why couldn't he just be straightforward for once? If he had something to say to her, why not just come out and say it instead of wasting time with the ridiculous mind games? What was he trying to communicate to her anyway? That deep inside she was suppressing a deeply disturbed emotional side? What would be the point of telling her something like that? And what was up with those monsters? They looked absolutely nothing like the sand-creatures molded by the Nightmare King; even the monster he'd shaped within her nightmare during her first night in Burgess looked nothing like that.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cassandra puzzled over the problem. All the evidence was currently pointing towards Pitch Black, yet too many questions remained: Why would he do it? What purpose would it serve him to scare her now, especially when he'd failed in the past? Why was everything so different in terms of how he was trying to scare her? Why was that beast and those shadow tendrils so very dissimilar to everything he normally used to frighten children? And, most importantly of all, why had her powers not worked when they'd been readily available to her the last time she'd been ensnared in the Nightmare King's dark creations?

Glancing over at the nightstand, Cassandra saw that it was half past noon. Lunchtime already? At the mere thought of food, her stomach rumbled. Resigning herself to what would inevitably be an incredibly awkward meal with Barb, Cassandra carefully removed and refolded the cloak before tucking it in the very bottom of her duffel bag. She then arranged her underwear and socks on top so she would know instantly if anyone went snooping through her bag.

With that complete, she swallowed the inevitable and left the room.

Barb was in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea and absentmindedly stirring a pot of chicken noodle soup. Cassandra watched her for several minutes, wondering if the woman was ever going to realize that the soup was about to boil away to nothing. When it became apparent that she wouldn't, the girl cleared her throat.

"That's going to become mush you know."

With a gasp and a curse, the blonde swooped the pot over to the sink, but it was already too late. There wasn't even enough liquid left to call it a chicken noodle stew. With a dry chuckle and one eyebrow quirked, Barb noted, "And I'm usually pretty proud of my soup."

Cassandra sniggered. Barb smiled gently at the sound.

"Come on," she coaxed, gesturing for Cassandra to join her at the counter. "You can help me with the grilled cheese. We can still eat those as long as I don't burn the damn house down."

They managed to make the sandwiches without burning anything down, and they sat at the table together to eat them. Cautious about eating too much after suffering a concussion (vomiting was a potential side-effect, wasn't it?) Cassandra took her time, nibbling at her sandwich and watching closely as Barb checked and rechecked her phone.

"I thought you were off today," she commented as the woman's cellular dinged yet again, this time to announce an incoming email.

"I am, technically, but my assistant apparently has her head up her ass and doesn't know it's missing."

Cracking a small smile at the imagery, Cassandra questioned, "What do you do?"

"For work? I'm an accountant for one of the big companies in the city. Boring, I know," she added when Cassandra failed to gush over her line of work. "But it pays the bills and I've always been better with math than anything else. I really wanted to run some sort of adoption center or an orphanage, but that just never panned out."

Remembering the woman's dream of dancing, playing children, Cassandra frowned. "Did you want kids?"

"When I was younger? Absolutely. Thing was, I really wanted to be married before I had any, just to make sure there was a stable home environment. And after Omar left me I knew it was a useless dream."

Cassandra considered that for a moment. They were innocent words, and quite truthful, but there was something else, something she just couldn't put her finger on.

Then it struck her.

"Were you…" She hesitated. When Barb just looked up at her and said nothing, she figured the woman was waiting for her to continue and so she did. "Were you in foster care?"

Swallowing a bite of grilled cheese, the woman questioned, "Why do you ask?"

"Back at the hospital, you said you knew how fucked up the foster system is. And just now you said that you didn't want kids until you were married and had a stable home life."

Nodding her head ever so slightly, and looking contemplative, Barb quietly admitted, "I did say that, didn't I?" Then she chuckled, but it was a quiet, humorless sound, the sort of noise a person made when they were trying to laugh off a horrible memory but were failing miserably.

"I was," she said at last. "My brother and I both were. We're only half siblings, technically. Different dads. Our mom had a whole slew of boyfriends, but never married, and it was hard having to keep track of all the rotating faces and personalities. After a while you just give up."

"How old were you?" Cassandra asked, and though Barb answered readily enough her voice remained soft, as if speaking too loudly would stir up some dark shadow from the past.

"I was six when our mother lost custody. Neglect charges. We were walking to the park alone and somebody reported it. The police eventually tracked us down, only to find out my brother had been taking care of me for more than two weeks. Our mother was off on a cruise in Europe." She shook her head in disgust. "After she got out of prison, she was given the opportunity to work towards regaining custody. My brother was sixteen, still technically a juvenile. I was twelve. But the woman couldn't be bothered. She told the judge she much preferred us being in foster care, and that was the end of that."

A few minutes of silence passed while Barb finished eating her sandwich.

"I hated foster care," she said at last, brushing crumbs off her fingers and onto her plate. "Hated every second of it. Some of the families were decent enough, but for the most part you're stuck with people who really couldn't give two shits about you. They go through the motions of caring for you, giving you food and baths and whatnot and sending you to school, but they're completely devoid of any sort of emotional attachment to you. In one home I was separate from my brother, and the two kids I got stuck living with instead stole or broke every last thing I owned. They even ripped the buttons off the back pockets of my jeans so I had holes in my ass and everyone could see my underwear. They were that damn petty. But those foster parents did nothing about it. 'They're coping', they told me. 'Everyone copes differently, so please try to be patient with them'. That didn't make any damn sense to me. I was coping, too. I didn't have a real home or real parents and my brother at that point was two hundred miles away. I only got to see him every couple of months, and that was if I was lucky enough to catch a ride over there. It was the absolute worst experience of my entire life. Thankfully it ended earlier for me than for most. The very day my brother turned eighteen and aged out of the system he went to the court and asked for paperwork to formally become my guardian. It took eight or nine months, time for him to get a job and an apartment and prove he could care for me, but in the end he got me out of there."

She laughed, only this time it was a genuine laugh, one that was truly Barb. "I can't say it was easy for a teenage boy to raise his hormonal teenage sister, but we both survived. He still calls at least once each week to see how I'm doing. He's married now with two kids, a boy and a girl. They're so cute! Even Jada, who's the biggest tomboy you'll ever meet. She's got such cute curls…"

Cassandra stared at the woman who had taken her in, who continued to chuckle under her breath as she cleared away the dishes and leftover sandwiches.

 _Is that why you care so much? Is it experience that drives you to help me, not some pathetic notion of grandeur or sense of grownup responsibility?_

As much as she wanted to, Cassandra dared not speak those questions aloud. But it really didn't matter, as she was fairly certain she already knew the answers.


	15. Grave Contemplations

Author's Note:

My humblest apologies for the long delay! Things have been absolutely crazy here the past few days... After I posted the last chapter, I spent five whole days without my computer because I was packing up to move, then I was dealing with unpacking and setting up utilities, etc., then I spent the past two weeks dealing with the internet company. Like seriously, how freaking hard is it to come, set it up, and have it _work_? Apparently very hard. Grr. So yeah, that's what happened, but at least I'm in a permanent residence now. :D Anyway, as an apology for making you wait I'm posting two chapters at once, so hopefully you enjoy them.

 **Silversun XD:** Yes, yes it was, but as I said I don't include anything in my stories without purpose, so I suppose that's something of a positive. (Gotta look at the bright side at this point.)

 **Momochan77:** That's okay. You're not supposed to really understand them quite yet, but everything will connect together by the climax of the story, so if you don't figure things out before then that's perfectly okay. The characters don't get it either…yet. ;)

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Thanks for the love, I'm glad you liked it in spite of the content.

 **starthedetective:** Cassandra _definitely_ has trust issues, yes, and it's exactly as you said: it's a defense mechanism. She's obviously trying to work on it a bit, since at the end of the chapter she sort of admitted to herself that maybe Barb wasn't quite as bad as she thought she was and that, if nothing else, the woman does have the capacity to understand Cassandra's life to some degree thanks to what happened during her own childhood. It's not much by the way of relationship building, as you'll see, but hey, baby steps right?

Please enjoy, everyone, and review if you can. I so enjoy hearing your thoughts and opinions, even if it's just a little tidbit. :D

* * *

After lunch, Barb insisted that they spend the rest of the day taking it easy. They played cards for about an hour before Cassandra found it next to impossible to keep her eyes open. She'd hardly slept the past few nights, and that dream-darkened nap she'd had earlier really didn't do much to help. So she stretched out on the couch while Barb occupied herself with her useless assistant during the ad breaks of her documentary. This one was about whales. Cassandra really wanted to watch it too, but wound up falling sound asleep about ten minutes in. Oh well. There were always reruns. She woke up at about four-thirty, the smell of baking chicken wafting through her sensitive nose, making her mouth water. The poultry and rice meal was far more successful than lunch had been, and Cassandra enjoyed two platefuls. She still had a bit of a headache, but wasn't overly concerned about throwing up anymore. If she hadn't by now, she figured she probably wouldn't.

The meal was a relatively easy affair. Barb didn't mention a single thing about either the events leading up to her hospitalization or her earlier breakdown, for which Cassandra was truly grateful. It was one less thing for her to worry about, considering just how many problems she had developed over the past few weeks. They talked about school, and track, and Barb—shocked to hear that there was an upcoming league tournament at the end of May, right before the season ended—insisted that she attend both the meet and the end-of-year parent-teacher conference.

"I'm sure you're doing fine with school," she assured the scowling girl. "But at this point in your life I want to have a guarantee. Plus they let you pick a couple of classes for sixth grade—"

"Just foreign language, and I'm taking Spanish because the French teacher is stupid."

"—so I want to make sure everything goes smoothly. I don't want any nasty surprises come September."

Cassandra blinked, more than a bit surprised that Barb was not only preparing for her to stay long-term, but that the woman actually sounded _okay_ with that. There hadn't been a single tic or twitch at all in the woman's expression as she discussed the following school year like it was just around the corner, and not four long months away. It was shocking to say the least, the difference in their optimism regarding this new living arrangement.

 _What is there to be so optimistic about? Shouldn't she be annoyed that she has to waste all this time, energy,_ money _on a kid like me?_

That she wasn't left Cassandra rather perplexed as to how she should feel.

After dinner, she took a hot shower while Barb washed up. Then they sat down for an early evening game show on television, but Cassandra soon grew sick of Barney's incessant yapping and retired to her room before it was over. Once it grew dark, she shaped a tiny hummingbird out of dream sand and sent it off through the window to the dream weaver. She wasn't entirely sure it would find its way properly, as she had no experience with directing sand creatures in this way, but based upon the instructions she'd been given she would have to trust that a clear thought of _Find the dream weaver, wherever he may be,_ would be enough.

Like every night before when she'd slept at Barb's, her bedtime was still strictly eight-thirty. Only this time, at quarter to ten, right before Barb turned in for the night, creaking floorboards out in the hall indicated that the blonde paused right outside Cassandra's closed door. She remained there for only a matter of seconds before continuing on to her own room, but it was enough for Cassandra to know that she was still being checked up on. She would have to be careful about this, then.

With her keen hearing, it was easy enough for Cassandra to notice when Barb fell asleep. She then waited an additional twenty-two minutes until the deep, rhythmic breaths and limited tossing and turning let her know that Barb was in a deep REM sleep and wouldn't be awakening for quite some time. It was only after that that she felt it safe to re-don the cloak, slip into the shadows and go out into the night.

Before meeting with the dream weaver, she wanted to speak with Pitch Black.

While she showered, Cassandra had thought long and hard about her strange visions. Although she stood by her previous conclusion that confronting Pitch directly about the dreams wouldn't amount to much, as the Nightmare King either wouldn't explain to her properly or would outright lie about it, she'd ultimately decided that such thoughts shouldn't prevent her from seeking him out anyway. Regardless of what she believed he _would_ say, she couldn't rely on assumptions and had to at least give him the chance to speak for himself, otherwise she wouldn't be any better than the Guardians—nothing more than a hypocrite. Besides, whether he was involved or not there were at least two sides to every tale, so if there was any hope of her truly understanding the meaning behind and purpose of those dreams she needed to seek information from every possible source.

At this point, her only sources were Pitch Black and the dream weaver. So she would make inquiries of them both and reserve judgment until she heard what each had to say.

It took little effort to reach the Nightmare King's realm. The hole leading to the caverns was still open, and she slipped inside with no problem at all. The ease with which she entered gave her pause. Shouldn't there be a magical barrier or a Nightmare standing guard or something? It didn't seem quite like the Boogeyman to just leave his home wide open like that, especially with how much trouble he'd been stirring up lately. Her concern mounted to new heights when she emerged into the large, cage-filled room and found it filled with Nightmares. Except…the mares weren't moving. In fact, they were all huddled in the far corner, looking unspeakably uneasy.

Frowning, Cassandra approached the one called Onyx and asked softly, "What's going on?"

Several mares winced as if she'd snapped or snarled at them. Onyx did not, but her head tilted and sagged upon her neck until it hung nearly to the floor. It was the most dejected look Cassandra had ever seen on any living being, and she'd seen some pretty pathetic creatures in her time.

"What happened?" she pressed, turning to stare around the room. It was empty apart from the mares. She couldn't see or hear or sense Pitch anywhere, but the fear gathered within his realm was almost palpable. The emotion was so intense, in fact, that had it not been for the calming effects of the cloak, Cassandra was certain she would've succumbed to it just as the Nightmares had. Was this a sign of Pitch's growing strength? Or was something else going on? She couldn't be sure one way or the other.

"Pitch?"

Leaving the cowering mares behind, Cassandra moved through the room, picking her way carefully so as to not stumble or trip. With each step she took, the silence pressed in upon her like a smothering shroud.

"Pitch?"

Ducking into a shadow, she reemerged on the high walkway from which Pitch loved to stare down upon those lesser beings that dared enter his dilapidated home. While emotionally she remained passive, her every instinct screamed at her to run, get away, to just _go_ — _go QUICKLY_!

 **Extreme danger.**

It was foolish to tarry, but she did not want to waste what would likely be her last trip to this place; now that she lived with Barb, she simply couldn't risk sneaking out as she had with her dad. With this thought in mind, Cassandra hazarded one last call, though it was far weaker than all the others before it. Caution now diminished her voice.

"Pitch?"

The faintest of Nightmare whickers was the only warning she had. One moment she was standing there peering into the gloom, the next a great chill had snaked down her spine as something abruptly appeared behind her. She spun on the spot, hands swiftly rising to summon her magic to her defense, but she stayed the attack just in time. Pitch stood there, not three feet from her, and Cassandra saw at once that there was something very terribly wrong with him. He was looking at her, but his eyes were dry and bloodshot, and far more yellow than they were supposed to be. He was smiling at her, but the smirk was not one of casual arrogance or dark humor. No. _This_ expression was cold. The only way Cassandra's shocked brain could think to describe it was that death itself was smiling down upon her.

Staring mutely back at him, her instincts now shrieked at her to run, but she pushed them fiercely away. Now more than ever she was exceedingly grateful that she'd chosen to wear the cloak. While initially she had done so in order to keep Pitch from provoking her (as he so often liked to do), for such agitation surely wasn't good for a concussed head, it was clear that her last-minute decision was probably going to save her right now. Cassandra knew she could not show weakness in front of this…this… _predatory_ Pitch Black, for if she did, if she showed even the slightest hesitation or fear, he would pounce upon her in an instant.

And in this state, who knew what he would do to her.

Although her reasons for doing so had been sound, Cassandra realized too late that she should not have left her room.

Relying heavily upon the magic of her cloak to keep from sounding timid or choked, Cassandra questioned, "Are you all right?"

"What do you mean?"

His voice sounded exactly as it always did: smooth and tinged with just the vaguest hint of an accent. So then why did she get the unsettling feeling that he was not the one speaking to her right now?

 _He is not himself. He is most certainly_ not _himself and I cannot even being to explain why._

She shrugged. "I was calling for you, but you didn't answer, and your mares are acting weird, so I was just wondering if something had happened."

Good. That was a good answer, her stoic mask was impeccable. It needed to be—Pitch Black was staring so hard at her, trying to root out even the smallest of deceptions, she worried he would burn holes into her skull.

After a long, calculated pause, he shrugged. "They are my servants. It is only right for them to cower before me, especially when they have displeased me."

"What did they do?" she asked, genuine curiosity coloring the words in spite of the current situation.

He smirked again, and for a moment he almost looked like his usual greasy self. "Nothing you need concern yourself with. The matter has been settled appropriately."

He wasn't simply avoiding her questions: he was expertly dancing around them, answering in a way that was both truthful and elusive. Under any other circumstances Cassandra would've found this practiced manipulation annoyingly predictable, but tonight she found it incredibly suspicious. From the safety of her cloak's hood, which cast a dark shadow upon her face, thus obscuring her expression, she cast a glance down at the Nightmares. From the moment their master had appeared, their cowering had increased, and they dared not even look at the Nightmare King. She had seen these creatures cowed by Pitch's anger before, but never like this. He was usually rather affectionate with his mares, treating them more like loyal pets than true servants. But now they shied from him like slaves would from their master's whip.

Burying her questions for later, she informed Pitch rather directly, "I've been having strange visions."

"Have you?"

"Yes."

"Of what?"

He sounded almost bored, like he was struggling to feign even the slightest interest in her current problem. Did that mean he wasn't involved and therefore didn't care? Or was his mind simply preoccupied by whatever was going on to cause him to appear so…abnormal?

"I saw myself," she replied honestly. "A complete likeness. It kept asking me for help, like it was scared and in danger."

"Did it?"

"Yes." She wondered at the strange look on his face. There was a new gleam to his unnaturally yellow eyes that made him appear strangely gleeful, smug almost. Yet when he replied, his voice was smooth and ice-cold.

"What else happened?"

He did not look at her when he said it. In fact, his eyes had become glazed over, as if he were staring at something only he could see, although the horrible smirk remained plastered upon his face.

"There…" Logic and reasoning gave her pause, for she had to wonder if it was actually safe to tell him what had happened. She had no idea what was going on with Pitch right now, but she was growing increasingly concerned by the millisecond.

 _But after bringing it up, if I do not answer him then he will grow suspicious. And I cannot lie, or he will be able to tell and will become just as angry._

"There was a monster," she admitted slowly, studying Pitch's expressive face just as closely as he'd studied hers a moment ago. "A monster came and tortured my other self, and then it ate it."

"And then…?" he asked, the words scarcely more than a blackened whisper.

"And then it attacked me, but I woke up before it could hurt me," she concluded, her attention still fixed upon him.

"Hmmm…" The utterance almost sounded like a purr deep in the back of his throat. "Well, well, my dear. I congratulate you."

"Why?"

"Why not? You escaped the creature while your other self could not. Clearly you are stronger than it was, stronger than the beast perceived you to be." The horrible smirk widened, and his voice dropped further as he whispered a silky warning. "But you'd best be careful. The darkness almost got you; it'll be more aware next time, more meticulous, and far more _vicious._ "

"Did you send me those dreams Pitch?"

"Why would I?" It was not a rhetorical question.

"I don't know. You like to fuck with my head, I know that, but this is a bit extreme even for you."

A flicker of something akin to disappointment shone briefly in Pitch's eyes before it was ruthlessly thrust aside by the very same flash of pain (and accompanying brightening of the gold in his eyes) that she'd witnessed the night she'd attacked him over his devious trick with the cloak. It was gone just as quickly as last time, but it alarmed Cassandra far more than it had before.

 _Someone's stopping him from talking to me again! Is_ that _why he's acting so strange?_

Now she knew for certain that it was time to leave.

Feigning growing disinterest, Cassandra shrugged. "Well, that's that I guess."

His brows furrowed. "That's it? You come down here shrieking my name like a struck banshee and this is all it amounts to?"

He was annoyed, but sparing his feelings wasn't her primary concern right now. Getting away safely was.

"I only yelled for you because your mares were acting weird," she told him. "You said it was none of my business, so it's none of my business. As for why I came…I didn't think you were the cause of those dreams, as there was no real reason for you to be that much of a jerk to me, but I wanted confirmation. Now I have it."

It was an answer that was both truthful and deceptive, just as his excuse about the mares had been. She probably wouldn't have been able to pull it off without the cloak, especially with how emotional she'd been lately, but pull it off she did. Unable to detect deceit in her words, the Nightmare King was forced to take them at face-value. He snorted derisively.

"Humans," he scoffed. "They think they own the damn world."

Still muttering irately to himself, he vanished back into the gloom. Cassandra took the opportunity to depart, although she sure to keep the pace reasonable so as to not raise the Nightmare King's suspicious. She remained in the safety of the shadows until she returned to her bedroom at Barb's where, in her present state of distraction, she failed to notice at first that the dream weaver had already arrived.

"What is with you Guardians sneaking up on people?" she asked, her irritation mounting swiftly as she pulled the cloak from her shoulders. "First that rabbit, then him and frost, now you."

 _Sorry._

"A bit of a warning is all I'm asking."

 _Where were you?_

He could probably guess based upon her choice of attire, but it seemed he wanted to hear the truth of it directly from her. Folding the cloak neatly, she cast him a sideways glance that clearly displayed her growing ire. "Is it any of your business?"

 _No. But you called for me, and you weren't here._

"I had some business to take care of, that's all. Don't worry about it."

Lips pursed; clearly he disapproved of both her dismissive tone and the cloak's implication of what she'd been up to. He eyed her for a moment, a small frown playing across his pudgy yellow face, and she could tell that he was toying with whether or not he should press the issue further. Thankfully he decided to stay out of her business. Instead he used his symbols to ask her, _What did you need?_

She described the dreams to him, but in far more detail than she had with Pitch. (Particulars regarding the Nightmare King himself she kept strictly confidential; the last thing she needed was for these Guardians to assume that Pitch was somehow vulnerable and try to take advantage of that by attacking him.) The dream weaver was clearly shocked by what she'd seen, as well as confused and increasingly worried over what it could mean. By the time she was finished, he had a hand to his chin and his eyes were filmed with thought.

"I don't think it was Pitch who did it," she offered after a moment. "Not only was the content extremely different from anything I've seen from him, I just can't think of any reason why he would do something like that to me."

 _Pitch's motives are often hard to understand,_ he replied, the symbols shaping slowly as he was still preoccupied with his own thoughts. _And despite what you think, he_ is _more than capable of such cruel torment. But you are right. Something like this is rather extreme considering your current relationship._ After a pause, he added, _I cannot think of any reason why he would do this._

"And you didn't do it?" she said, wording the question so that it came across as her seeking confirmation of something she already knew rather than an accusation.

 _Of course not. It would go against my every principle, not just as a Guardian but as an individual._

"So then it has to be someone else."

 _I do not think so._

"But you just said—"

 _I said I could not perceive any reason for Pitch to do such a thing, but it had to have been him. Other spirits are capable of manipulating dreams, but they are not only very strict in their methods, as the deception is meant to serve a particular purpose, they also stick exclusively to adults._

"Why?"

 _My dream sand is exceptionally hard to manipulate; it took Pitch centuries to master the foul art. Before me, however, dreams came to humans purely through their own creative and subconscious minds. With no magic behind them, those visions are far easier to distort. Human adults do not believe in spirits, therefore their dreams are purely the creation of their own minds. Spirits who rely on humanity's darker thoughts and desires to survive take advantage of that to help them stay alive._

Cassandra frowned as she struggled to understand. "But you said that it's very hard for you to give adults dreams, so how come it's so easy for them?

 _I am a Guardian of Childhood. My magic is not meant to work on nonbelievers, but I can make it do so when necessary. As a dark spirit, Pitch could likewise prey upon adults if he wished but he chooses not to._

"Why?"

 _Pride. The Guardians of Childhood defeated him, so he seeks to use the very children we protect to bring about our downfall. Power gleaned from adults is also of lesser worth than that from children, because there is no belief behind it. It is like…like clutching to smoke when it is the warmth of a fire you seek. You are close enough to know that the heat is there, but not nearly close enough to truly enjoy it. Pitch refuses to accept such inferior strength. In the spirit world, relying on nonbelievers for existence is the same as wallowing in mud for scraps. In his mind, doing something like that would equate to acknowledging that he is weak, desperate, and pathetic._

Well that certainly made sense. As arrogant as Pitch Black was, Cassandra couldn't see him stooping to such depths when the payout, apparently, wasn't all that great.

Still…that didn't explain her visions.

"How do you know that one of those darker spirits who prey on adults didn't manipulate my dream in the hope of gaining more power?"

 _It is impossible. My sand does not work on you, so it would be impossible for any of them to succeed. Besides, their dreams are tailored to create a particularly intense feeling of greed, lust, envy…whatever it may be that they need to survive. Your dream was intended to frighten. The only spirit that would serve is Pitch Black._

"Yeah, but _why_?"

 _As I said…I do not know. I do not know either why Pitch's magic works on your when the Guardians' does not._

Well there was one of Cassandra's secrets out of the bag. At least the dream weaver hadn't discovered that she'd known about that for quite a while already.

 _May I ask you something?_

"I guess."

 _Do you mind if I discuss this with the others?_

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

 _Pitch never does anything without purpose, but this is beyond my understanding. Perhaps one of the others, or all of us together, can come up with a suitable theory._

She crossed her arms with a scowl. "I don't want that damned Easter Bunny getting into my business."

 _Bunnymund is being punished by Issitoq for what he did to you. He cannot leave the Warren._

Face and tone both exceptionally dead, she uttered, "Really?" It wasn't much of a punishment, in her opinion, but she supposed it was better than nothing. What happened to all that nonsense about filing grievance if the Guardians did something to her that Pitch didn't like? Had that also gotten lost thanks to whatever problems the spirit of fear was currently dealing with?

 _Tooth Fairy and North may have some ideas, if you'll permit me to seek their counsel._

She wondered why Jack Frost hadn't been included, but supposed he was still off pouting somewhere after asking to be picked. After thinking it over for a bit, she shrugged.

"Fine. You can ask them. But don't go putting it into their heads that I'm suffering or something. I can handle a few bad dreams."

 _I will not,_ he assured her. Then a thought came to him. _One more thing…_

"What else do you want to ask them?" she asked on a sigh, and he smiled.

 _Apologies. But may I also speak with them about what we discussed last night?_

Her brows creased with confusion. "Why?"

 _You said that we are unfair in our treatment of Pitch. And you may be right. I think it will be easier for the others to consider your current predicament with an unbiased mind if they also hear your thoughts on that matter._

He was right about that, Cassandra couldn't deny it. Sharing her opinion of the Guardians-Nightmare King feud _had_ put the dream weaver into a more neutral mindset, but then again he'd always been the most reasonable of the group. There was no guarantee that anything short of an epiphany would change the others' minds about Pitch Black.

Still, keeping them in the dark wouldn't do anything to change their minds either.

"Go ahead. You can tell them."

 _Thank you. I will try to return before morning, if possible._

"And if not?"

 _First thing tomorrow night._

With a nod of acknowledgement from her, he disappeared out the window. Cassandra flopped down on her bed with a weary sigh. Turning onto her side, she pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. Hopefully she could get a few hours peaceful rest before the dream weaver turned up again.

Unfortunately, the arrival of an ugly bat-winged eye put a significant damper on her plan.

* * *

Upon leaving Cassandra Fisher, Sandy returned to the Warren in all haste.

"So?" Bunnymund inquired impatiently. "Did she give you permission or not?"

"What did she want to talk to you about?" Jack asked at almost the exact same time.

Shaking his head at their over-eagerness, Sandy reported, _I have permission, though I must discuss that issue with you before I explain what happened tonight._

"Why?" the inquisitive frost spirit wondered.

 _It will help you understand, I think._

"Okay…"

Drawing a silent breath that he released in a quick (but just as quiet) exhale, Sandy explained. He did so slowly enough for North to translate whenever necessary, as young Jack was still relatively new to his sand pictographs and sometimes had difficulty grasping their full meaning. Thankfully nobody interrupted him, giving him ample time to explain himself fully.

 _Issitoq said that he initiated_ Mutatis Mutandis _to correct some great travesty that has endured for a considerable amount of time. I didn't understand at first. None of us did. But even without knowing about the rite, Cassandra told me that she believes there is as imbalance in both the human and spirit worlds due to our longstanding feud with Pitch Black. She considers our current position as Guardians equal to that which Pitch held during the Dark Ages, because we, as he did then, now hold all the power and authority over both the children of the world and the spirit realm. We are dictators like he was, she thinks, which makes us hypocrites. She told me fear has a natural place in the world, which is why we can banish him but not destroy him completely, therefore we ought to find some way to accept and tolerate each other's existence instead of constantly bickering for total dominance._

His last symbol faded away, and after a moment's silence Tooth Fairy asked in a stunned voice, "You think Issitoq is upset that we've been trying to stop Pitch?"

 _It makes sense. It is the_ only _thing that makes sense. Participants in the rite are not chosen at random—there is always some reason why they are selected, something which directly ties them to the cause behind the rite's initiation. If Issitoq is trying to restore a natural balance between shadow and our light, our inclusion makes perfect sense._

"But we're just protecting the children," Bunnymund argued. He'd refused to be held this time, so everyone had to bend their heads to look down at where the tiny Pooka stood between North's massive black boots. "Imbalance or no, how can we be faulted for that?"

"Issitoq has to remain impartial," Tooth supplied quietly, her eyes downcast. "It will not matter to him why we did it and why we continue to do it. If he believes our actions are unjust, regardless of how vindicated we consider ourselves, he will seek to reprimand us."

"Justice doesn't always make sense," North murmured. "Even with humans, legal system is often questioned, no? Too harsh, too lenient, guilty walk, innocent suffer…" He shrugged. "Opinions color judgment of such things. Issitoq is the only exception to this; ancient magic forces him to remain just, always. His decisions may be impossible to understand, but that is why we are not spirit of law."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Bunny muttered under his breath.

"So that's what this is all about? Issitoq thinks we're being too hard on Pitch?" Jack couldn't believe it. After everything the Boogeyman had done, considering everything he _continued_ to do, how could the Adjudicating Eye side with him? Forget inconceivable, it was downright ludicrous!

 _I do not think it is all about us,_ Sandy reminded him. _Pitch is just as much in the wrong. Issitoq said it has gone on for a long time… I think Pitch's reign during the Dark Ages was what first aggravated him. Our continual bickering and the power-grabbing as of late are what pushed him to finally initiate the rite._

"Burgess?" Jack questioned, meaning the last time the Nightmare King had made a serious grab for power.

 _Cassandra is twelve. That would mean she was born within a relatively short time of that incident with Jamie and his friends over Easter. In the spirit world, especially for a spirit as ancient as Issitoq, twelve years is but a blink of an eye. I do not think it is coincidence that she was born so close to that time._

"The straw that broke the camel's back." Leaning back on one foot, the other propped against his shin, Jack used his staff for balance as he scratched at his chin, staring up at the distant earthen ceiling of the Warren. He pondered aloud, "I suppose it makes sense. He didn't like Pitch spreading so much fear, so he didn't complain when Manny created the Guardians to stop him, but the kids enjoying so many centuries of fearlessness and light must've resurrected those old objections. Then when Pitch pushed back and we drove him into the ground again, it was like we were all rubbing salt in the wound."

 _So he initiated the rite,_ Sandy confirmed with a grim nod.

"But that doesn't mean he couldn't have found another way." Always one prone to argue, especially when his friends' reputations were at stake, Bunny vented, " _Mutatis Mutandis_ is _final_ , mate. There's no way outta this without Fisher picking somebody. Is replacing someone really the only way he could settle this?"

 _It is as I told Cassandra,_ Sandy replied sadly, _Pitch is extremely proud, and very stubborn. But then…so are we. Do you honestly believe you could tolerate a world where Pitch Black was free to walk and work, permitted to spread fear and create nightmares, and capable of thriving in the darkness that lies beyond the boundaries of his own realm?_

Bunny opened his mouth to retort but the words stuck hard in his throat. No. No he couldn't tolerate it. He _wouldn't_ tolerate it, not when he knew precisely who and what Pitch Black was and what he would be doing to the children. As long as E. Aster Bunnymund drew breath, he _would not_ tolerate the Nightmare King having freedom.

Judging from the looks on his friends' faces, he was not alone in that sentiment.

 _This is precisely the problem,_ Sandy told them, his head hanging. _We want it our way, and our way only. Pitch is the same. Issitoq knew that unless something drastic happened none of us would change._ Mutatis Mutandis _is devastating enough to force even the egotistical Pitch Black to have second thoughts._

Recovering quickly from his temporary speechlessness, Bunny argued, "But he _ain't_ having second thoughts. He's manipulating this to his own advantage! He's trying to get rid of _all_ of us!"

"And Issitoq sure as hell isn't moving to stop him," Jack added angrily.

 _We have to hope that that Issitoq knows more than we do about Pitch and that he will ensure no grievous harm comes to those who are not picked. There wouldn't be a point to this rite at all if he were willing to allow us to fight to the bitter end, would there?_

No, there wouldn't be, but knowing that failed to make the other four Guardians feel any better. With Issitoq, who rarely acted in a way that was predictable or even comprehensible, nothing was truly outside the realm of possibilities, so all they could do was trust that things were currently going entirely to the Adjudicating Eye's plan and hope that said plan didn't include allowing the Boogeyman to run amok.

Things were quiet for a few minutes as each Guardian contemplated what Sandy had told them. Then Jack inquired, "So what happened tonight? Why did Fisher call you out?"

 _She's been having nightmares._

"Nightmares?"

 _Yes. They are exceptionally vivid, very dark and inconceivably cruel. She believes, as I do, that Pitch is responsible, but neither of us can understand why he would do such a thing._

"He's supposed to be playing nice so she doesn't pick him," Bunny said, a puzzled frown playing across his tiny, fuzzy face.

"And why would his magic work on her when yours doesn't, Sandy?" Tooth wondered.

"Not Jack's either," Bunnymund pointed out. "Although Tooth could still read her memories."

 _I do not know,_ Sandy admitted. _I cannot explain it._

Tooth's wings fluttered quicker than usual (a sign of nervous energy) as she asked, "Can you give us a bit more detail about the dream? Maybe the answer lies within."

Sandy explained the vision to them as best as his symbols would allow. By the time he was through, everyone was grim-faced and North looked almost as pale a Jack.

"That's gross," the frost spirit said, his face twisted with disgust. "Why on earth would he give _anyone_ a nightmare like that?"

"I don't understand it," Tooth murmured. So distracted was she by the confused thoughts running rampant inside her head, she spoke entirely to herself, although the others inevitably overheard. "Pitch _had_ to be the one to do it, but it doesn't make any sense for him to try and scare her like that. He has to know that doing so would push her away."

"Making him more susceptible to being picked," Bunny concluded.

With no indication whatsoever that she even heard him, the fairy continued to mutter under her breath. "She saw herself…an identical copy that was chained and terrified, and definitely suffering. Then a monster came and ate that copy after torturing it, probably for an extended period of time, although the copy didn't actually die…"

Her voice trailed away into silence. The others watched with rapt attention, hoping she could come up with something, but in the end she uttered a growl of frustration.

"It just doesn't make sense! How in Manny's name is forcing her to watch a shadow beast—a beast he _obviously_ created—torture and consume her own likeness going to benefit him?!"

"Maybe he was hoping to scare her so he could get stronger," Jack offered. "Scaring the daylights outta the arbiter of the _Mutatis Mutandis_ rite has to be something of a strength boost, right?"

Sandy admitted: _Yes, but he has to know by now that Cassandra does not frighten easily. Trying his hand at it regardless of that fact is an incredible risk, one which he would only take if he were truly desperate. As powerful as he seems to be based upon what Bunny told us of their meeting, it does not appear that he is in such a state right now._

"And even if he were desperate, would scaring her make up for possibility of being picked?" North added in a contemplative rumble. He shook his head. "I do not think so. He may wish Guardians destroyed, but Pitch would not risk himself like that to see it done."

"Guess that throws that idea out the window," Jack sighed, disappointed.

"This is just getting crazier by the day," Bunny complained in grumpy undertones, earning him an unappreciated nudge from North's left boot.

Digging his staff into the ground, Jack flew up to perch lightly on the crook at its top, crouching so he could rest one elbow on his knee and his chin upon his fist. He always thought better in this position—the higher off the ground he was, the clearer his head. "Everything Pitch has done so far has had a specific purpose: making friends with Cassandra; talking down about us to her; the cloak; the Nightmares; leaving Jamie to Issitoq instead of filing a grievance; letting me and Bunny leave his realm unharmed; trapping Bunny while I was at Fisher's; keeping real quiet about everything he's doing, so even Manny didn't know that he was growing stronger again…"

Playing off of Jack's train of thought, Bunny noted, "This is the only thing that doesn't have a clear motive."

"But there _has_ to be one. He wouldn't throw away all that time, effort, and strategic planning on some stupid, meaningless stunt. We're just not seeing it."

"Cassandra doesn't see it, either, and she seems to be closer to understanding him than we are sometimes," Tooth said, finally pulling out of her own tangled thoughts to join the others in their verbalized brainstorming.

"Which means it's something that's out of character for Pitch not just as _we_ know him, but as she does too." Bunny shook his head, a look rather reminiscent of pain settling upon his features as he tugged at his ears in frustration. "I just don't get it!"

"Manny would know, but he cannot help us," North commented, earning him a scowl from Jack.

"That's not very helpful."

The big man shrugged apologetically. He, like the others, unfortunately had little else to say on the matter as he likewise failed to understand.

Tooth put in, "Perhaps it's the timing that's important. She spoke with Sandy about how the issue at hand is our constant fighting with Pitch, and suddenly she starts having nightmares?" She shook her head. "Maybe Pitch, like Sandy, came to realize that this is why Issitoq initiated the rite, and it angered him, so he's taking it out on Cassandra."

"Pitch is petty enough to do that, yeah, but what's there for him to be angry about?" Jack questioned of her. "He's already got himself pretty secured so why does it matter to him why Issitoq did it?"

"It's the same reason Bunny became so upset when Sandy spoke of it: he doesn't want to have to concede on anything. Making—and keeping—terms with us will be an exceptionally low blow to him, but as he's incapable of taking his wrath and frustration out on Issitoq he's doing it to the one person he feels is just as responsible."

"Fisher," Bunnymund said grimly.

"Yes. It doesn't explain why his powers work on her when Sandy's and Jack's don't, nor does it sufficiently explain why he'd risk losing his lead on such an irrational show of anger, but it is the only thing I can think of that comes even close to explaining this."

 _It is the answer we'll have to take,_ Sandy stated with no small amount of reluctance. _We can always get a better idea as more information comes. Keep an eye and ear out, Tooth, North. I will let Cassandra know about this and tell her to inform me of any further nightmares so we can expand our hypothesis._

With that, he sped off on a yellow sand cloud to return to Cassandra's new home. When he got there, he was shocked to discover her clutching a disturbingly familiar scroll in her hand.

"The hell is this?" she asked, thrusting the opened document into his tiny grasp. "What does this mean? The writing's so advanced and formal I can barely understand it. I'm only twelve for fuck's sake!"

Smothering a smile at her youthful indignation, Sandy put on a look of grave understanding before reading the scroll over. He had suspicions, of course, as to the contents, and upon receiving confirmation of such he somberly reported to the human child:

 _Issitoq has summoned you to Ikiaq. I believe you are finally going to get the answers you seek._


	16. Journey

Author's Note:

Since I introduce a couple of new (albeit very minor) spirits in this chapter, I want to get something off my chest. Anyone who's read _Starfire,_ my first fic (or anyone who remembers when I first introduced Issitoq a few chapters back) will know that I take a great deal of inspiration for my spirit OCs from mythological beings, creatures and/or gods from various cultures throughout the world. As I mentioned back then, I don't like to straight-out copy, as that seems like stealing and comes across as a bit insensitive and lazy on my part. However, I don't want to go absolutely crazy with creating my OCs as that tends not to go over very well in the world of fan fiction.

Why am I bringing this up? Well, while working on this chapter, I found that I needed a very particular pair of characters (who are introduced very early on) who meet a very specific set of specifications, and the only way I could do that without, as I said, going crazy with my imagination, was to rely a bit more heavily on pre-established mythology than I usually do. I still tried to put my own twist on it, but I didn't feel completely comfortable including these characters in my story without first explaining my thought process. I don't want to come across as a hypocrite, and so if you take issue with what I did please feel free to let me know in the comments.

Translations:

 _solucan_ : worm (Turkish)

 _korkak_ : coward (Turkish)

Please enjoy everyone!

* * *

For a full thirty seconds, Cassandra stared dumbly at the dream weaver. Once the gravity of what he'd just told her finally sank into her mind, she spluttered, "Right _now_? I can't just up and disappear, Barb will have a fit!"

 _Not tonight,_ he clarified. _Two nights from now. And do not worry about your guardian; Issitoq will ensure you are returned before she ever knows you are gone._

"How's he going to do that? Even your sand couldn't keep her out for very long."

 _It is beyond my ability to explain, as I cannot say with any certainty what he will do. But believe me, Issitoq has his ways. If I were to guess, he will elicit the help of another spirit to keep her asleep until your return, one whose power is intended to work on nonbelievers._

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. In a voice dark with warning, she stated lowly, "Not one of those spirits who feed off of human dreams, I hope."

 _Not all spirits who rely upon humanity to survive are evil, Cassandra. Many use the very power they glean from humans to protect them from harm, although their aid does go largely unnoticed. Others simply take what they need without hurting or helping._

Rubbing her forehead with both frustration and weariness, Cassandra leveled her next objection. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get there, or even where I'm going."

 _I can take you._ Far from appearing eager to help, the dream weaver's expression was a carefully maintained blank, which made Cassandra suspect that it actually took a significant effort for him to extend the offer at all. It seemed going to this Ikiaq place was _not_ the dream weaver's idea of a pleasant experience. Such knowledge only made her even more wary and loath to go, but as this was the only way she would get answers about this picking nonsense, she knew she had little choice.

"All right," she agreed. "As long as this Issitoq spirit isn't going to kill me or make me do anything vile, I'll go."

The dream weaver winced, and she wondered why he did so. He nodded before she could ask, indicating that the plan was set, and informed her, _I spoke with the others._

It took her a moment to recall what he was referring to. "The dreams? What did they say?"

 _Tooth thinks Pitch is angry at Issitoq over what's going on with us right now._

"This being picked thing?"

 _Yes. Because he can't take his anger out on Issitoq, as the Adjudicating Eye is a very ancient and formidable spirit, he is taking it out on you._

She blinked. "So…you're saying he's having a temper tantrum?"

His mouth quirked a bit. _That is a bit crude of a description, but yes._

Cassandra didn't buy that one bit. It was true that Pitch Black was irrational at times, particularly when he let his anger or arrogance (or, as was more often the case, wounded pride) get the better of him, but this simply didn't seem to be one of those times. Based upon his rather haggard appearance earlier in the night, she suspected that Pitch was in fact dealing with something none of them were aware of, something Pitch probably couldn't tell anyone about even if he wanted to because someone was forcing him to keep his mouth shut. Considering it was the very same someone who stopped him from speaking about this 'being picked' issue, she strongly believed that that someone was Issitoq. Why the so-called Adjudicating Eye would force the Nightmare King to dance to his tune when he obviously wasn't forcing any of the Guardians to do so, however, remained a mystery.

 _One of the many, many questions I'll have to ask him…_

In spite of her deep desire for answers, she wasn't looking forward to this meeting at all. If Issitoq was even half as cunning and manipulative as either Pitch Black or the Guardians, Cassandra knew she was going to be in for one long, exhausting, frustrating night.

* * *

 _Ready?_

Cassandra eyed the two spirits standing near the window. "Are you sure they can do this?" she asked the dream weaver. They didn't look capable of much of anything, let alone keeping Barb asleep all night without harming her.

 _I assure you they are more than capable._ Sensing her lingering doubts,he explained, _Miyako is a_ yosei _. Roughly put: a fairy. She has guarded the nights of Japan for centuries, even before I came to be. Her magic ensures long, restful sleeps._

"If she's so old and strong, how come you were needed to stop Pitch?" She knew she sounded rude, but she just couldn't picture this tiny kimono-wearing child (and she was, indeed, a child, hardly more than four or five years old!) being of much help.

Miyako the _yosei_ surprised her by answering for herself. In a voice with child-like pitch and a slight Japanese accent, she assured the doubtful human, "There is a reason Pitch Black remained in Europe during the Dark Ages." She giggled. "Spirit protectors like us were once common throughout much of the world, but not in the West. It was this weakness that drew him to that region." Her expression fell. "It is not so anymore. Very few of us remain, and those that do fade away night by night. Pitch Black, however, remains strong."

Okay, so perhaps the child-spirit _did_ know what she was doing. Maybe. Cassandra didn't quite believe that the Nightmare King could ever be thwarted by such a tiny creature, but then again…anything was possible in the spirit world, wasn't it? Jack Frost was considered the strongest of the Guardians, and he was just a scrawny teenager. And that stupid Easter Bunny could pack a wallop, too, even though he was little more than an oversized, excessively arrogant rabbit.

Glowering, her gaze then fell upon the creature lying at the little girl's feet. "What's he here for?"

The girl-spirit Miyako stroked the chimera affectionately. "Ayumu is a _baku_ , a spirit who devours nightmares and dreams alike. He has served me faithfully for many, many years, and will ensure your guardian maintains peaceful sleep tonight."

 _Just in case Pitch tries something,_ the dream weaver told Cassandra with his silent sand symbols. _I know I said that it is incredibly unlikely that he would ever stoop to casting nightmares upon an adult, and doing so to your guardian at this point in time would certainly be a breach of the rules. But considering what has recently happened between you two, I cannot in good conscious put anything past him._

Miyako quirked an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by his insinuative comment, but as neither he nor Cassandra elaborated she wisely chose not to ask about it. The human girl's opinion of the child-spirit rose just a little in that moment, and so she decided.

"All right."

With a grin, Miyako the _yosei_ disappeared through the wall which divided Cassandra's bedroom and Barb's. The chimera _baku_ followed close on her heels.

 _Let us go now,_ the dream weaver advised, summoning a large golden cloud outside the window. _We should not tarry._

With a silent nod, Cassandra swung her cloak over her shoulders and drew up the hood. The dream weaver watched with disapproving eyes but made no comment on her decision to wear it. It wouldn't have mattered anyway; nothing he had to say about it could possibly change her mind. There was an intense mixture of anxiety, expectation, dread, and relief churning inside her stomach, and she knew the only way she was going to keep a level head (and not puke) would be to wear the cloak. Yes, she was finally going to get answers, but she doubted they would do much to lighten the burden that had been inexplicably thrust upon her ever since she arrived in Burgess. Quite the contrary, she couldn't shake the feeling that this trip was actually going to make things even harder for her to deal with. Taking the cloak could only help to ease the strain of accepting what she was soon to learn.

They made the trip to Ikiaq in silence. Thankful that it wasn't windy, as that would've surely aggravated her now hyper-sensitive ears, Cassandra watched with intrigued eyes as hosts of various landscapes sped by far below: meadows and valleys, great forests and mountains, lakes and rivers, enormous urban sprawls (including one she was certain was Manhattan) and vast open farmlands. As they were headed east-northeast, towards the rising moon, she figured the mountains had to be part of the Catskill range, as the Adirondacks (the only other range in the region with which she was familiar) were much further north, closer to Canada. Still, it was not until they left the lights and sirens and hubbub of New York City behind and ventured out over open ocean that she began to wonder.

Calling over the whistling wind, she inquired of the dream weaver: "Where are we going?"

She wasn't familiar with the island he shaped over his head, but when he shrunk the image so as to illustrate its exact location off the coast of Canada, Cassandra realized Ikiaq was situated somewhere within one of that country's providences.

"Is Issitoq Canadian?"

He started to nod, then shook his head, then gave up with a shrug. Apparently it was hard to explain precisely where the Adjudicating Eye came from. Cassandra wondered about that. Jack Frost, based upon the little Mr. Bennett had told him about the spirit as well as the white-haired boy's obvious attachment to Burgess, was undoubtedly American. Pitch Black, based upon his accent, was of European origins, and Santa Clause (called North, if she recalled correctly) judging from _his_ thick accent was of Russian or some other Slavic decent. Miyako the fairy-spirit was clearly Japanese, as was the _baku_ who served beside her. But the Tooth Fairy and dream weaver were of far more dubious backgrounds, and who knew where the hell the Australian-accented Easter Bunny came from. He'd called himself a Pooka, but Cassandra didn't have a clue what that was or where they came from. Perhaps Issitoq was similar: a spirit who dwelled within the world and formed a realm within a particular country, but whose true origins remained a mystery.

Mr. Bennett had said, hadn't he, that not all spirits liked to remember how they came to be.

 _Or maybe he's just secretive. I can't recall the dream weaver or Tooth Fairy ever complaining about how_ they _came to be spirits, but they aren't exactly jumping to share their stories, either._

They began to descend, the cloud of yellow sand eventually touching down on a remote island far out into the ocean. Stepping carefully to the ground, Cassandra quickly noticed that, apart from a tall pine tree growing smack dab in the middle, the island was little more than a pile of wave-battered rocks.

"Here?" Her dubious tone spoke volumes.

 _Here._ Banishing the sand that had shaped the cloud, the dream weaver gestured for her to approach the tree. She did so, but warily, wondering if perhaps Issitoq _was_ the tree and was about to start taking swipes at them with his branches.

 _That would be stupid,_ she chided herself. _He has no reason to attack me. And why the heck would the "Adjudicating Eye" be a tree?_

The dream weaver stopped at the foot of the tree, and she did the same.

 _Reach out your hand and touch the trunk,_ he instructed her. _The tree serves as a portal into Ikiaq. It will recognize you and allow you passage._

"And then what?"

 _Follow the path._

"That's it? What if I get lost?"

With the cloak in place, it was impossible for her to feel nervous or anxious, so the question was simply a matter of practicality. She'd read more than enough stories to know that whenever someone was told to just follow a path or a road, things were never that simple.

 _Hell, Dorothy got herself into all sorts of trouble on the biggest damn yellow road in the entire world._

 _There is only one pathway,_ the dream weaver assured her. He paused for a moment, eyeing the tree with a funny expression on his face. _I can sense other spirits congregated within, but none will dare touch you. Ikiaq is the one place in existence that is truly neutral territory._

"Yeah? And what if someone does decide to try to hurt me?" She simply didn't like the idea of a horde of strange spirits waiting for her just inside. Why the hell were they even there? Were they expecting some sort of show?

As if reading her thoughts (even though he couldn't see her face as the shadows of her hood hid it completely from sight), the dream weaver responded, _Believe me, Cassandra, none but the most foolish would dare. Not only would they have to face your wrath, but Issitoq's as well. While he is a truly impartial spirit, he is by no means lenient. To break the code of armistice within his realm would be literal suicide._

"I see." She considered that for a long moment before speaking further. "Will you come with me?"

Surprised by her request, a golden question mark appeared above his head.

"If I go in alone, they are more likely to try to push me around," she explained. "I assume armistice means I cannot use my magic unless attacked first. Knowing this, they will hold little respect for me, and once they realize that I am a lone human child they will undoubtedly try and push their boundaries."

 _True,_ he agreed, looking thoughtful…and worried. _That is all true._ He sighed silently. _All right. As long as you agree to it, I will accompany you, although I do not think Issitoq will allow anyone, even me, to be present while he speaks with you._

"Then escort me inside and go. I can always open a tunnel to get out afterward."

 _It's a long way._

"I went from Burgess to the St. Lawrence and back in a couple of hours, so this won't be much worse. My magic makes it quicker."

He considered it for just a moment. _All right. Just be sure to ask Issitoq's permission first; his magic is powerful, preventing anyone from entering or leaving Ikiaq without his consent._

"You mean he purposefully let in all those asshats?"

He sniggered at her choice of adjective, but sobered quickly. _Yes. Though why he did, I cannot say._

"Is this whole thing really that big of a deal?"

 _Yes._

His expression was so very somber, almost bleak, that anyone else probably would've regretted asking. But Cassandra didn't. It wasn't her fault any of this was happening. Yet here she was, about to waltz through a hornets nest of unpredictable, ornery spirits just so she could be fed some story about why she, a human, had a whole plethora of magical abilities and why Guardians of Childhood kept falling over themselves to try and make her pick them for something terrible yet still largely unknown to her.

Shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the whole thing (Hadn't she once gone out of her way to ensure she _didn't_ become an exhibition for ogling morons?), Cassandra reached out and placed her hand against the tree trunk. There was a distinct surge in magic, a _pull_ that she could not ignore, and before she could even blink she was standing in the realm of the Adjudicating Eye.

To say that a few had come to play witness to this strange series of events would be like saying that life at the bottom of the ocean was a bit damp. The very instant she and the dream weaver appeared within Ikiaq, hundreds of eyes fell upon them. Spirits were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, lining the walls as far as Cassandra's keen eyes could see. Stiff and wary, the dream weaver stepped a bit closer to her, although she could not say precisely whom he was trying to reassure. If it was not himself, then the intent was wasted, for she did not fear these spirits at all. Instead she observed them with impassive eyes, studying them as they studied her. The sheer diversity of the spirit world was astounding. Every conceivable combination of shape, size and color was on display, and there was no mistaking the distinctly non-humanoid shapes scattered throughout the crowd. Some looked like animals while others, like the _baku_ Ayumu _,_ were a combination of various animals.

And the _magic…_ There was so much latent magic contained with Ikiaq right now, it was a wonder that Cassandra wasn't smothered by it.

Far from growing unnerved by being the center of so much attention, however, Cassandra lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, determined not to show weakness. This was just like dealing with Pitch Black, she assured herself, only on a much grander scale. Confidence and intelligence would see her through, no matter how many snide jabs or cunning remarks were inevitably thrown her way. Already she could hear the whispers, some more subtle than others, and scant few were polite. It was definitely a good thing she chose to wear the cloak tonight; without its calming effect, she knew she'd loose her temper long before she reached the Adjudicating Eye.

When the dream weaver cautiously made his way through the horde of ogling, gossiping spirits, she silently trailed after him. And for a time, they met no opposition at all, though it was hard to tell whether it was the little yellow man's presence or the looming threat of Issitoq's wrath that prompted these strange spirits to make way. They made slow but steady progress, and Cassandra used the measured pace as an opportunity to study the amassed spirits further. Subtle glances from the shadows of her hood soon brought to her attention several glaring facts. First and foremost was how the assembled spirits had purposefully divided themselves by alignment, with what she could assume were "evil" spirits collected to one side of the path and "good" spirits on the other. The prejudice didn't stop there, however. Cassandra also noticed how the "good" spirits were gathered in large clusters that huddled close to whisper familiarly to one another, like cliques from her school, whereas the "evil" spirits either stood alone or in pairs. Stiff and distrustful, they eyed one another just as warily as they glared upon those across the pathway. Even the color scheme of these spirits showed a clear divide: the mass of spirits to her left was a cornucopia of blinding color, from purest white to brightest red and every manner of yellow, blue, gold and silver, green and orange and even pink besides; but on her right was a great sea of black and gray, dotted only occasionally with the odd brown, venom green, or deep, dark red. Further compounding the distinction between the two sides was the fact that very few of the spirits to her left were chimeras, whereas those to her right were far more various (and bizarre) in their physical appearance. Compared to that lot, the Guardians actually seemed rather normal.

Speaking of Guardians, there was the fat man and the Tooth Fairy, standing together amongst the "good" spirits. The dream weaver nodded to them in acknowledgement, but they just stared in opposite directions and did not even spare him a glance. This puzzled Cassandra tremendously. Were the Guardians fighting? They were clearly mad about something, but that was almost expected considering how very touchy they were about everything. And where was Jack Frost? The dream weaver had said the Easter Bunny was being punished and couldn't leave his realm, but nothing had ever been mentioned about the frost spirit. His absence was as glaringly obvious as the public snubbing of Sandman had been, and Cassandra wasn't the only one to notice. As she and the dream weaver continued along, muttering and whispering and even snickering were picked up by her sensitive ears. While there was a great deal of speculation from both sides, once again there was a distinct divide: from her left, much confusion and a considerable amount of concern; from her right, smugness and glee, although Cassandra did spy a few who eyed her—or, more specifically, her cloak—with some bafflement. Picking out specific comments from the buzz of so many coalescing conversations was difficult, but it seemed Pitch Black was far from favored on either side, and that many were outright mocking his gift to her.

One rather sharp-tongued spirit dressed in heavy black armor sneered openly at it. "What king? He actually bound himself to a human brat, I cannot think of anything more pathetic than that."

Sniggering burned Cassandra's ears. She slowed, and stopped. A hush immediately fell over the crowd as every single spirit waited in tense anticipation for her reaction. The dream weaver likewise stopped, and turned back to wave anxiously for her to ignore it, but Cassandra couldn't. That arrogant spirit hadn't just insulted Pitch with that comment. He'd insulted her as well by insinuating that she was some sort of pathetic little girl. She knew she was a lot of things, but a "brat" was certainly not one of them. Her head turned very slowly until her eyes fixed upon the loose-tongued spirit, who immediately puffed up with indignation.

"What?" he snapped haughtily. "What are you going to do to me, little girl? Make me apologize?" He barked out a laugh. It was an incredibly harsh sound that grated on her ears. A puff of smoke escaped his lips as he did so, the stench of burnt corpses stinging Cassandra's nose. "I would never do such a thing. Apologies are for the weak, and what I said is naught but truth! I would say it a thousand times over: Pitch Black is a tiny little man in a crumbled ruin of a realm, and you are nothing more than a pawn Issitoq plays with whenever he grows bored!"

"Savaş," another spirit cautioned in worried undertones. Though he was significantly smaller in stature than the armored brute, and likely subservient to him, his deep concern prompted him to lay a hand on his comrade's (master's?) arm. But the effort was wasted. Savaş shook him off roughly.

"Do not lay your hand upon me _solucan_!" he spat, making the smaller spirit cringe. "Who gave you the power to order _me_ around?!"

The lesser spirit shrank away from the harsh words and callous expression, but Cassandra did not. She moved forward, striding slowly but purposefully towards the armored spirit until she stood toe-to-toe with him, staring right up into his six tiny eyes. The tension in Ikiaq was now palpable, and the dream weaver looked like he couldn't decide if panicking or stepping in was the more reasonable option.

"What?" the massive spirit asked, leering down at Cassandra. It appeared that towering over her did much to stroke his already swollen ego. "What are you going to do?"

"What are _you_ going to do?"

The dull creature's face scrunched up with confusion. "Huh?" he uttered stupidly.

"It would seem I am bothering you," Cassandra replied coolly. "So what are you going to do to stop me?"

Unable to determine where this was going, but growing aggravated by it nevertheless, the spirit called Savaş snapped, "Go away, brat. Leave me be."

"No."

"I said _move_ bitch!"

"What can you do to make me leave your presence?" Neither her tone nor her stance wavered in the face of his growing anger. Even when his magic swelled around him, summoned in the wake of his fury, even when it became abundantly clear from both the expression on his face and the clenching of his fists that he was dying to retaliate, she did not budge. And when he failed yet again to touch her or otherwise act to make her back down, she stated calmly, "Nothing, it would seem. Clearly the pathetic one is you."

Surprised murmurs and more than a few snickers permeated the stillness. Savaş' face contorted with pure fury as one particularly bold soul guffawed loudly. Those who stood on the left side of the path quickly bit their tongues, thankful that the fool did not stand amongst them, while those on the right only grinned wider, mocking the armored spirit further. He spun sharply to face them, head swiveling sharply on his neck as he tried to root out the culprit.

"Come out and laugh to my face, _korkak_!" he roared. "I'll twist your jaw from your face and piss in the hole!"

Well that was certainly colorful. Cassandra's eyebrow quirked but as no one could see it nobody commented on it. Behind her, the spirits of the light shifted uncomfortably and worried to one another in hushed tones that a fight was about to break out. They feared raising Issitoq's ire within the earthen hall of Ikiaq, just as the dream weaver had insinuated they would. Savaş, meanwhile, did not appear at all concerned about where he was or what his actions could cause. He was now physically grabbing at anyone stupid enough to stay within reach, still bellowing for the one who'd laughed to identify themselves. The ridiculous display of brainless brawn probably would've continued for quite some time had a long, lean, surprisingly handsome spirit not appeared from the crowd.

"Oh, come now, Savaş," he chided in a merry tone, striding towards Cassandra with a wide smile plastered upon his pale face. "Can you not spare a spirit some amusement? The human has wit—odd for a brat, even you must admit. And she does not cower before the spirit of war himself. Do forgive us some amusement, for we are all surprised."

Savaş swirled to face the newcomer. The heavy black cape that hung from his shoulders (tattered beyond repair and splattered with what was unmistakably dried blood) swung violently through the air, catching some tiny monster right in the face and knocking it over. It yelped in surprise and pain, six stubby legs flailing wildly, but not a single spirit paid it any mind.

"I will not be mocked!" he roared, the words echoing deafeningly in Cassandra's sensitive ears.

The handsome spirit—who, oddly enough, was dressed in clothes that were an exceptionally dark purple—shrugged his shoulders carelessly, waving the spirit of war's concerns aside as if they were nothing. "We all mock each other, Savaş. Harsh words are spent as carelessly as hot breath, so do not take a fool's utterances to heart. The culprit does not reveal himself, does he? Clearly he is far beneath you otherwise he would have no fear. And speaking of fear…"

He grinned wider, having finally reached the place where Cassandra still stood. He stopped and looked down at her, the air of innocuous interest he wore about himself completely undermined by the cunning gleam to his blood red eyes.

"It would seem the Nightmare King has deemed you worthy of a gift. Was it a birthday gift, I wonder?"

She did not answer. Every single one of his pearly white teeth gleamed as he delighted, "So it is! My, oh, my, that Pitch Black surely knows no depth of wretchedness, does he?" Before Cassandra could retort, he shrugged again, just as offhandedly as last time. "But with the Nightmare King, one never knows. Surely there was a reason he gave you such a gift, one which exceeds the customary? No spirit in his right mind would everbind themselves to a human, you see, let alone a tiny brat like you."

Those distinctly colored eyes flicked to where Tooth Fairy and North stood, still purposefully avoiding each other's gaze. He examined the distance between them, both physical and intangible, his amusement heightening significantly as he did so. "Whatever game he has begun," he said to Cassandra, "it would seem he is currently holding the lead."

His full attention returned to her once more. From the shadows of her hood Cassandra stared right back at him, her expression a perfectly composed blank.

"Tell me, my dear, which Guardian do you intend to pick?" Hands on his hips, the spirit leaned in closer, head cocked to one side so he could consider her with a sideways look that was equal parts sly and amused. In a hushed voice that carried easily in the tense quiet that had fallen over Ikiaq, he advised her, "Personally I would pick the fat man. Sure his clothes are ridiculous, but how hard can it be to throw a couple of trinkets at some brats? Those monsters he keeps will do all the work, so it isn't as if you will ever have to lift a finger."

North's deep blue eyes pierced the dark spirit with a fury that could burn forests into ash.

"Do not insult my yetis, Gerissen," he growled. "Say what you want of me, but not them!"

"Always so quick to protect the weak," the handsome spirit sighed, straightening up. "Ah, well, I suppose that is what it entails to be a Guardian. All that power wasted on such stupid ventures. Why do they need guarding anyway? Pitch wasn't hurting them, just playing around a little."

Infuriated by the remark, the Tooth Fairy snapped, "You call centuries of darkness and terror playing around?" When North moved to place a large, calming hand on her shoulder, she slapped it away. "Don't touch me, North! I will not stand for this beast to insult the children!"

North's face pinched with anger and he turned away from her, scowling, massive arms folded across his chest.

The wicked spirit looked positively delighted to witness such hostility. "My, my, what a temper," he cooed. He sounded so very pleased with himself, Cassandra suspected he'd purposefully instigated them in the hopes of determining whether or not the Guardians really were feuding, as their hostile body language had been insinuating. Surprisingly, it appeared that they were.

To the human child before him, Gerissen sighed, "Ah, well, all the easier for you, isn't it?" He reached forward and laid a thin-fingered hand on Cassandra's left shoulder. "Do keep in mind who your real friends are around here, hmm? The Guardians clearly aren't fairing too well, and once you pick one of them do you really think they'll welcome you with open ar—"

He broke off with a hiss. His arm wrenched back, swiftly withdrawing the offending hand, but not fast enough. Cassandra—annoyed by both his incessant prattling and the audacity he displayed by touching her—had reached up and firmly clasped his wrist, summoning her frost magic as she did so. Blue ice immediately sprouted along his bare skin, burning him with cold so intense he had to stifle a howl of agony as he rubbed furiously at his arm, trying to pry the thick shards from his body. He eventually succeeded, but not before her magic had done its work. As the broken chunks of ice clattered to the ground, she saw plainly that the skin where it had touched was now black from frostbite.

Gerissen stood there huffing loudly, a mixture of fury and pain burning in his now gleaming red eyes. But then he smiled, vile and victorious. "Frost." He drew the name out like a hiss. "So _that's_ who will fall. Pitch Black has certainly outdone himself this time."

Cassandra then saw that she, like Tooth Fairy and North before her, had been played expertly by Gerissen's cunning mind. Just as he had effortlessly instigated the Guardians into publicly confirming that they were, indeed, quarreling, after failing to sway Cassandra with his charm he'd pushed her into using her magic. On the surface her reaction held little significance, but in a moment of clarity she remembered how Pitch had reacted when she'd instinctively called upon her frost magic while attacking him after over his treachery with the cloak. She had unwittingly done so yet again while warding off Gerissen, and that was all the answer the sly spirit needed. A part of her wanted to curse her own stupidity, but instead she smiled a wicked smile of her own.

"I would not be so proud of myself, spirit."

His smile faltered just a little. Still clutching his damaged arm, he glanced around, wondering what she could mean. It was only then that he realized all the other dark spirits, Savaş included, had taken a distinctive step back from him, leaving a massive open space around him. All along the walls and ceiling, those gross eyeballs stared down at him in condemnation.

"I did not hurt you," he denied, his conviction failing with each consecutive word as panic began to rise within him. "I did not cause you harm, the one who was harmed was me!"

"I simply defended myself," Cassandra said coolly, though the hidden smile was still upon her face. "An unknown spirit, whose powers are likewise unknown to me, speaks ill of children and the Guardians and then immediately lays his hand upon me? What else was I to do but assume the worst and seek to prevent it?"

"You cannot be serious!" Gerissen howled. He sounded more juvenile by the second, a whining brat rather than a proud and cunning spirit. "That is the most pathetic excuse I have ever heard!"

"Even humans have laws against putting your hands upon another person. I did not cause grievous harm. I simply forced you to let me go. What I did was no different than a human slapping or punching another human for touching them out of turn."

"That's preposterous!"

"Is it?" Cassandra lifted her face towards the ceiling. Not a single one of the disgusting orbs keeping watch over Ikiaq was looking at her. "It would appear it is not."

With that, she turned smoothly away, presenting him with her back as she strode down the path towards the stunned and gaping dream weaver. The little yellow man eventually pulled himself out of his stupor to once again lead the way, though he winced visibly as Gerissen's frantic, disbelieving hollers echoed after them.

"What is the meaning of this?! You cannot do this to me! I didn't do anything wrong, how is a _touch_ worthy of punishment?! All I did was—"

The words broke off suddenly, replaced by a sickening crack of bones and snapping of sinew. Cassandra did not look back, nor did she flinch. Although his steps did not slow, the dream weaver's eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them again she saw that they were filled with grim acceptance.

 _He deserved it,_ she thought resolutely. Had she not decided long ago that she wouldn't allow herself to be manhandled by anyone? The rabbit spirit's assault upon her had only solidified her determination to never, ever allow herself to be the victim. As long as it was within her power to defend herself, she would do so.

 _Besides, he obviously knew as well as everyone else what stirring up trouble in Ikiaq would mean. He was stupid and arrogant enough to assume that he could outwit Issitoq, and failed miserably at the game he himself devised._

The world would certainly be better off without the tremendous fool.

As the pathway took them deeper underground, the concentration of spirits rapidly dwindled until she and the dream weaver were completely alone. A few minutes more and the corridor ended before a pair of ancient roots, which served as a thick wooden door.

 _You must go alone from here,_ the dream weaver said. His expression was still quite somber as he gazed up at her with sad yellow eyes. _Be sure to remember to ask permission before attempting to leave._

"Of course." After a brief hesitation, she stuck out her hand. He eyed it with confusion until she said, "Thank you."

There was a great deal left unsaid by those two simple words, but they made him smile nevertheless. Perhaps he understood, perhaps not. He accepted the offer and shook her hand firmly.

 _Be well, Cassandra Fisher. And be wise._

She rolled her eyes, but of course he could not see because of her cloak. He left her then, and with a quiet sigh she passed through the now open doorway that led to Issitoq, the Adjudicating Eye.


	17. Explanations

Author's note:

Welcome to all the new readers, reviewers, followers and favorite-button clickers. And welcome back to all the old ones too, of course.

 **KijoKuroi** -The Guardians suddenly fighting isn't a writer's error, I promise. Remember what they decided their plan was gonna be at the end of Chapter 13? Well, if not that's okay, because the beginning of this chapter might help freshen your memory. :)

 **Momochan77-** Hopefully the suspense wasn't too unbearable for you, and I really, _really_ hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. It took a lot of editing to get it right.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown-** You'll get the answer about the Guardians in this chapter. As for what's going on with Pitch, well, you'll have to wait and see unfortunately.

 **SilversunXD-** I do hope you like it. With so much building up this this meeting, the very last thing I want is to disappoint everybody by having it suck. ;)

 **Skyress1** -OMG, SO many comments! I LOVE IT! *massive hug* Welcome, welcome! I'm so glad you enjoy my story, and here's hoping you love the rest just as much.

 **starthedetective** -As I said to **KijoKuroi _,_** it's okay if you don't remember because the lead-up to the Guardians' "infighting" did happen back in chapter 13, which wasn't just three chapters ago but, like, three months ago in real life thanks to my mini-hiatus. *awkward glancing around*. The beginning of this chapter will hopefully jog your memory, and if not then you can always swing back to that chapter and take a peek. And you hold on to those theories! As you so aptly put it-don't change your mind until you have solid proof. You never know what I might spring on you. ;)

Please enjoy everyone!

* * *

Once Sandy reemerged from the semi-darkness, concern deeply etched onto his yellow face, Toothiana knew it was time. After bidding farewell to the spirit she was quietly chatting with, she turned to leave and happened to catch North's eye. She gave him a stiff nod before turning her nose up and flying away. Her trio of tiny assistants stuck close, their relief more than apparent as the four of them left the stifling, intimidating island realm behind.

After a few minutes, however, one of them twittered quietly.

"I know," Toothiana murmured gravely. She could feel the presence of the one following her, the dark aura making it clear that not all were convinced that the Guardians' feud was real.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked right into those piercing yellow eyes and glared, one small hand grazing pointedly over the hilt of her sword. Startled at first (Really, did he honestly think he was being stealthy when he was following so close?) the sprite covered its surprise by glowering back at her. It was wary enough to heed the unspoken warning, falling back a significant distance until it was barely visible upon the horizon, but it continued to doggedly tail after the fairy queen, determined to root out any deception. Toothiana turned her back on it with a scoff.

 _Let's see if it dares set foot in my realm without its master here._

Bold as this foul spirit was, it seemed it was not so foolish as to tempt the fairy's wrath by trespassing in the Tooth Palace. In fact, as soon as the Palace was in sight the creature's aura began to fade, and a subtle glance revealed to Toothiana that the cowardly thing was retreating back the way it had come.

"Hopefully Morsoi is satisfied with its slave's report."

Three little heads nodded in agreement. Her fairies had always hated it whenever evil spirits drew too close to the Palace, and after that fiasco with Pitch Black's mares twenty years ago they'd become downright anxious whenever they sensed a dark aura close by. To garner the attention of the spirit of pestilence (or that of any of his many, _many_ sprite slaves) was the very last thing the fairies wanted, especially now that _Mutatis Mutandis_ hung over all of their heads.

As soon as Toothiana and her attendants were inside the Palace, she reassured the clouds of restless fairies, "Calm down, everyone, the jerk is gone."

A collective sigh rose up towards the high-vaulted ceiling. The little assistants soon fluttered off, although their queen caught more than a few twitters of relief as they went about their business.

After waiting approximately ten minutes, just to be certain the dark spirit hadn't doubled back, Toothiana felt it was safe to move onto the next part of the plan. She nodded to her trio of fairies, who zoomed off to retrieve the snow globe North had left with her two nights prior. Tooth had kept it carefully hidden, for she was fearful of being discovered, but it seemed things were working out rather well for the Guardian of Memories thus far. Hopefully things were fairing just as well for the others. Once her fairies returned, straining to carry the globe between them, she shook it briefly then launched it to the floor, taking the portal to the Warren as soon as it opened.

"How'd it go?" Bunnymund asked the very instant she appeared. "Does anyone suspect?"

"One of Morsoi's sprites followed me back to the Palace, but I'm pretty sure we fooled it," Toothiana informed him while her fairies nodded agreements.

Bunny snorted in disgust. "That ratbag's almost as wary as Pitch, and that's saying something."

As Tooth nodded her agreement North appeared from his own portal, having returned to the Pole before coming to meet up with the others.

"How about you?" Bunny asked. "Anyone follow you?"

"A sprite tailed after me," Tooth reported as explanation.

"Me also," he huffed as the portal swirled shut. "But yetis scared it off. Some sprite that is, afraid of a few clubs," he chuckled, an enormous smile plastered on his jolly red face.

At the mention of the yetis, Tooth recalled what had happened back in Ikiaq. She threw herself at North and caught him up in a neck-crushing hug.

"I'm so sorry!" she practically wailed into his ear. "I didn't mean to hit you, you were just defending your yetis and the children, but it looked like nobody was buying it so I had to make it look good!"

Laughing quietly, North pried her slim arms off. Beaming so broadly his bright blue eyes were slits, he assured her, "It _was_ good, Tooth. You do not know how many of our friends asked me if we were all right. They were all very concerned."

"What did you tell them?"

"That we were arguing, but would make up once you stopped being so emotional."

Bunny snickered while Tooth fumed. "I am not emotional!" Then she smirked. "Well I told Hathorsyne that I was tired of you being a fat, loud-mouthed know-it-all who never lets any of us get a word in edgewise!"

"Ohhh, good one," Jack piped in. Perched atop his staff, he grinned between the two spirits as they squared off. He knew this was just a good-natured argument, one not so different from all those North and Bunny shared over whether Christmas or Easter was better, but that certainly didn't stop him from enjoying the show. If the act they'd pulled off back in Ikiaq was half this good, then he was sure as certain that every spirit there had bought it hook-line-and-sinker.

Which meant Pitch would too the moment he caught wind of it.

North winced at Tooth's scathing remarks, but stood his ground. "You talk too! Talk more than me, _lots_ more."

"But you're louder."

"I must be loud. Workshop is loud! Have to be heard over the toy-building!"

"Did you really just pull the 'my job made me deaf' card?" Jack asked, deeply amused.

"No," North retorted, but he shook with silent laughter as he winked at the white-haired boy. "I am not so old as to do that."

"Uh huh," Bunny muttered dryly, though he too was struggling to suppress a laugh.

The opening of a third globe portal signaled Sandy's arrival. He heaved a silent sigh of relief as soon as he saw his friends.

 _So?_ he inquired with his sand.

"Went well, did it not?" North asked with a huge smile.

 _I almost started to think you two really were mad at me,_ the yellow man replied with a satisfied grin.

"So what now?" Tooth wondered. "What do we do next?"

 _We can't do anything until we know how much time Cassandra has to decide. In a night or two I will go to her and find out, but until then we should all lie low. Stay in your own realms. Avoid each other and the Warren as much as possible. Jack has to stay here, of course._ Jack nodded as the Guardian of Dreams instructed him, _But stay out of sight. With Bunnymund so weak spirits can get in here easily if they so wish. If you are spotted, everything will be ruined._

The boy heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Guess I'm stuck sharing a room with Bunny again."

"Don't say that like it's a bad thing, mate. _I'm_ the one suffering here!"

"Yeah? How so? It's your own fault you can't go out…do you know how hard it is for a wandering spirit like me to be stuck indoors all the time?"

"Oh don't give me that. You make the room cold and hog the bed. It's _my_ bed you know."

"Just so _you_ know: I like heights, which means I usually sleep in a tree or on a rooftop. Just because I can't do either right now sure as heck doesn't mean I'm gonna be okay with sleeping on the floor." He cast a wicked grin down at the miniature Pooka. "If you weren't so tiny I wouldn't be free to hog the bed now would I?"

"Rack off," Bunny grunted. He kicked at Jack's staff, intending to knock the frost spirit off his perch but, of course, being so tiny, the move didn't even make the staff wobble. Jack snickered at the Pooka's tremendous failure before turning his attention back to the others.

"So that's it, then? We lie low and wait for the choosing day?"

 _A day close to it at least,_ Sandy confirmed. _We have to give Pitch time to find out about our quarrel. Gossip travels fast, but Pitch isn't well liked so we can't guarantee that someone's going to rush over to tell him. I'd say we give it a week if we can, then we go about the rest of the plan._

North was frowning, which was odd considering how happy he'd been just a few minutes ago. Sandy inevitably noticed this and asked, _What is it North?_

"It's just…" North trailed off for a moment, trying to piece his thoughts together. "It is good plan, no? Very good plan. But…"

"But?" Bunny prompted.

"But maybe…eh…maybe is too much."

"What do you mean, mate?"

"If Sandy is right, Issitoq is angry with us for fighting with Pitch, yes? I know we have to fight to keep him from destroying us. But! We cannot hurt him too badly."

Grasping where the big man was going relatively quickly, Tooth murmured, "It will make Issitoq madder, like we haven't learned our lesson."

"And will make Fisher hate us more if we do enough damage to make her take pity on him. Plus there's the chance she'll _really_ take offense and file grievance with Issitoq so that even those of us who aren't picked get punished." Bunny ran a paw over his ears. "Okay, so we cut him down just enough to stop this plan of his. We disperse his mares like last time, when he tried to take over Burgess. Without them, and with the shock of seeing Jack fighting alongside you three, he'll realize he's been outsmarted and retreat. He won't have enough time after that to try to hurt us before Fisher picks, and afterward—"

He broke off unexpectedly, shuffling his feet and clearing his throat awkwardly. "And afterward," he finished uncomfortably, "there will still be time, hopefully, for everyone who's left to sort things out before he tries again."

Sandy said, _There is still a risk Issitoq will grow angry, or that Cassandra will retaliate, but our hands are tied. We cannot leave him be and we cannot destroy him, so this is our only option. When he attacks, we will defend ourselves—_ **only** _defend ourselves—and then we will let him retreat._

"We should all swear it," Jack said suddenly. "We should all swear that this is going to be a defensive move only." The corner of his mouth quirked. "Aggressively defensive, but still defensive."

"Yes," North affirmed with a decisive nod. "Defensive only. Once Pitch runs, we let him. Do not follow, do not strike to maim."

"Focus on the mares," Tooth agreed. She held out her hand, and one by one the other Guardians shook, formalizing the agreement.

Once that was done, Toothiana sighed. "So…what do you think they're talking about right now?"

It took a moment for any of the others to understand what she was talking about. Bunny, surprisingly, was the first to get it.

"Fisher and Issitoq?" At her nod, he shrugged. "Who knows? It ain't like she's gonna tell us about it anyway."

* * *

Had it not been for her impressive night-vision, Cassandra was certain she wouldn't have been able to see a thing inside the Adjudicating Eye's judgment chamber. The odd light that illuminated the pathway barely touched the heart of Ikiaq, even with the doors thrown open, and when they slid closed once more she was left in total darkness. Wholly unimpressed by the obvious attempt to intimidate, Cassandra allowed her keen eyes to guide her forward until she stood at the lip of a cliff that dropped sharply into nothingness. She peered down into the depths for a moment, half expecting Issitoq to come crawling out of that fathomless pit. When nothing happened, she lifted her head to take a good look around. She spotted neither spirit nor movement that would indicate the presence of a spirit, but the raw _power_ contained within the chamber make it clear that Issitoq was close by. The collective magic wielded by those innumerable spirits back in the tunnel-path (who surely represented a significant portion of the spirit world) failed to compare to that which the Adjudicating Eye alone possessed.

Upon realizing this, Cassandra reluctantly admitted to herself that, yes, she was somewhat intimidated.

Not that she was going to let the Adjudicating Eye onto that fact.

A flicker of movement above her head grabbed her attention. Her head instantly snapped around, and not for the first time that night she found herself unspeakably grateful that she'd chosen to wear the cloak.

If she hadn't, she probably would've laughed.

 _Roots? Issitoq is a bunch of tangled roots? Why the hell is he called the Adjudicating Eye then?_

A voice—deep and resonating, ancient as time yet as almighty as life itself—pulled her from her bemused reverie.

"I welcome you, Cassandra Leanne Fisher, child under the moon, bearer of magic, seer of the unseen, arbiter of the rite." A soft rumbling, almost like a hum, echoed lightly around the chamber. "I sense confliction within you, a very deep, troubling concern. It seems you have many questions. That is to be expected."

"You are Issitoq?" she asked, figuring that was a decent enough place to start.

"I am."

Before she could stop them, the words, "I can't decide if I'm happy to finally meet you or not," slipped from her foolish mouth. They were truthful, yes, and considering spirits' penchant for arrogance she knew they needed to be said, but at the same time she recognized how very easily those words could become twisted into something deeply insulting.

Fortunately, the ancient spirit did not take offense. A laugh reverberated across the earth-and-stone walls as he said, "Such is also to be expected, young Cassandra. While it is both thrilling and pleasing to gain new knowledge, true enlightenment is rarely heartening."

"So what they've been telling me is true," she deduced. "This picking that I have to do is a bad thing for whoever I select."

"Mmmmm, yes and no. Under any other circumstance, yes, absolutely yes, but this time…I cannot say."

A frown signaled her confusion. The hell did that mean?

"You are younger than I intended," Issitoq admitted suddenly. "My desire was for you to be older, wiser, and far more experienced with the world before tasking you with making this decision. It is most unfortunate that events in both the spirit and human worlds have hastened progression." The roots twitched, almost as if the Adjudicating Eye had shrugged. "But that is not something that can be changed, so we shall not dwell on it. Regardless of your youth, you have done well thus far."

Even with the assistance of the cloak, Cassandra couldn't quite dispel the irritation from her voice. "As well as I could, considering nobody would tell me anything."

"An immensely frustrating predicament, to be sure, but such is critical to the advancement of the rite." Before she could even ask, he elaborated, " _Mutatis Mutandis_ , 'with the necessary changes having been made.' Born of a magic that precedes recorded time, it is a power so rarely invoked you could count the occurrences on a single hand. Yet you have seen how deeply entrenched its significance has become." A root flicked briefly towards the sealed doorway, indicating the spirits that had gathered in Ikiaq to catch a glimpse of Cassandra. "It will never be forgotten, not completely, no matter how many millennia pass between initiations. _Mutatis Mutandis…_ even humans employ this phrase within their legal system, although the meaning is expressively different for them than it is for us. Astounding, isn't it, how something can be so magnificent and devastating that even nonbelievers maintain some semblance of memory regarding its existence?"

As Cassandra struggled to wrap her brain around all of that, Issitoq continued.

"Due to the nature of _Mutatis Mutandis,_ its power is only called upon under the most pressing of circumstances.I told the Guardians that I did not set upon this path lightly, and I assure you of the same. Had there been any other means for me to see this distressing matter settled I would have readily abandoned all thought of invoking the rite. However, being the spirit of justice and law does have its share of setbacks; I am strictly forbidden from doing anything that upsets the natural equilibrium of the spirit world, which is governed by literally millions of codes, regulations and mandates. Imagine, if you will, an enormous silken web spanning the globe and every creature in it. Each and every spirit is an anchor for their given thread, which signifies their specific purpose, all of which are carefully, intricately intertwined. Should a thread snap, leaving its anchor devoid of purpose or, conversely, should an anchor fail, allowing its thread to break, the stability of the entire structure is threatened. My place is not that of the spider, for I neither built the web nor placed any of the anchors that hold it steady, but that of the web's caretaker. In the absence of the glorious spider, whose task is now complete, I must first seek to prevent the loosening or breaking of threads within its superb creation, second to call upon others to tend to its repair should such action be proven necessary, and third to punish any and all who dare disturb the delicate balance to which we are all irrevocably bound.

"Sans the analogy," he went on, "it matters not whether they are of the dark or the light, whether they seek to harm humans or to help them: each and every spirit that exists, from the greatest to the smallest, the oldest to the youngest, has a very specific part to play and a very specific set of rules to abide by. As the Adjudicating Eye, my duty is not to dictate or to govern, but to ensure that no spirit strays too far from the restrictions set for them at the time of their creation. If allowed to fester and spread, such chaos would affect the entire spirit world which, in turn, would deeply disturb the human one."

In an attempt to piece her thoughts together, Cassandra voiced them aloud, "Are you saying you cannot tell spirits what they can and cannot do except in circumstances where they fail to live up to their responsibilities as a spirit?"

"Hmmm," Issitoq hummed in a deep baritone. She took that for a yes.

"You say the chaos created when a spirit goes too far affects both the human and spirit worlds." That certainly reminded her of something. "Pitch Black ruled for a significant amount of time during the Dark Ages. Is that such an instance?"

"Yes. As the spirit of fear and shadow, Pitch Black is certainly within his rights to spread fear and create nightmares, but his besieging of Europe took such duties exceptionally too far. When spirits of the light failed to stop him—their cowardice and selfishness truly knows no bounds—I tasked the Man in the Moon with creating a new host of spirits, ones who could not only put a stop to the unbridled spread of fear but who also would not shy from such responsibilities in the future, even in the face of one as powerful as the Nightmare King."

Cassandra longed to divulge the many problems she believed existed with the Guardians, but felt it wasn't really the time. She didn't want to stray too far from the matter at hand, which was this _Mutatis Mutandis_ rite.

So she said instead, "So you have a bit of leeway with what you can do to restore order, even orchestrating the creation of other spirits, which I'm guessing means you cannot create any yourself. But this time…with this particular issue…you couldn't do that?"

"No."

"You couldn't do _anything_ else except start this rite?"

"Most unfortunately."

"Can I ask why?"

He paused for a moment. "This matter is…incredibly delicate. While humans rely heavily upon ethics to determine what is right and wrong I am forbidden from doing so, for when stripped to its barest foundation such is equivalent to utilizing mere opinions as a basis of judgment. Every individual has a very unique understanding of what is 'right' and 'wrong', you see, therefore morality is, in itself, inherently unfair. While I am allowed the freedom to feel and express emotions in my interactions with others, in my judgments such sentiment is strictly prohibited. Unless a specific law or code is broken, unless the natural balance of the spirit world is at stake, I cannot take action. It would not be my place."

"But you were allowed to initiate the rite."

"That is why this matter is so complicated. For many centuries I have been forced to watch this horrible travesty unfold, hoping against hope that others would take notice of the problem and, driven by their own sense of justice and morals, seek to amend it. Obviously such a thing did not occur, leaving me helpless to do anything except wait. As time passed and the natural balance between humans and spirits began to distort, I was finally granted the capacity to take action, yet my responsibility to arbitrate without prejudice still remained. I knew I would be unable to cast direct judgment due to the emotional bias that had built within me over centuries of observation, and so I sought to initiate the rite. _Mutatis Mutandis_ takes the final pronouncement out of my hands, thereby circumventing the problem."

"But if everybody has an opinion and a moral compass, isn't passing the decision onto someone else pointless? The issue of bias still exists."

"I did not say that morality is a bad thing. Indeed…in many ways the existence of a conscience is what provides the world with peace and stability, such as it is. Humans and spirits alike have a penchant for being disagreeable, do they not? But can you imagine what sort of wretched, heartless beings we would all be if we held neither worry nor care for anyone but ourselves? Can you imagine the state of the earth were we all, in our own minds, free to do absolutely anything we wanted? I may not be able to make purely ethical decisions as my magic forbids it, but that does not mean I cannot task others to do so. This is why the rite is so rarely used, you see. It takes a truly exceptional situation for justice and law to prove inadequate and a very strict set of requirements for _Mutatis Mutandis_ to be properly invoked."

"Which are?"

"Ah," he sighed, amused, "I cannot tell you that. Such would ruin any hope for future invocations, for then you and any others you might tell would know precisely what to do in order to avoid recreating the specific conditions."

Of everything Issitoq had said so far, that last statement made the most sense; the rest was currently a jumble inside Cassandra's throbbing head. She prided herself in being an exceptionally clever individual, but there were so many twists and turns to the legality of this overly-complicated situation she wondered how anyone ever kept it all straight.

 _At least it makes sense now why no one else would discuss any of this with me,_ she thought dryly. _It's so damn convoluted, saying nothing is the only way to ensure you don't break a rule._

When Issitoq spoke again, his voice was pitched very low and he spoke extremely formally, betraying the significance of what he was going to say even before he said it. "This is what you must do, Cassandra Fisher: as the arbiter of the rite of _Mutatis Mutandis,_ you are to choose who amongst the pre-selected participants is the least worthy of continued existence."

…what?

"The reason no one but I may disclose the details of the rite to you is quite simple: any false impression of what is required of the arbiter, whether implanted purposefully or unintentionally, could affect the final decision. Participants need no further excuse to try to sway or manipulate you, thus the rule is strictly enforced."

Cassandra wasn't really listening. She was completely numb, and there was an annoying buzzing between her ears, like a cicada's ear-splitting skreeeeeee. It took all of her concentration just to form a single coherent thought.

 _Least worthy of continued existence…_

Something very cold touched her heart.

 _Death. I have to pick either Pitch Black or one of the Guardians to die._

Without the cloak, she probably would've starting screaming…or hysterically crying. Perhaps even both. With it, the truth sank into her like a slab of concrete into a ripple-less pond.

"Why would you have me do this?" she asked in a hoarse whisper. "Why would you have me choose someone for something like that? I'm not even a spirit."

"Humans, particularly those who do not believe, are far detached from those matters which govern the spirit world. With no prior knowledge of our existence, you entered these proceedings as a truly neutral being, free of the prejudice that has become deeply rooted within the psyche of each and every one of us. Your eyes, ears, and heart are truly open to all things, thus making you the perfect candidate to impart a decision based upon rational, unbiased judgment.

"Furthermore—and perhaps, more importantly— _Mutatis Mutandis_ does not end simply with the demise of the selected; such an abrupt departure without swift replacement would shake the very pillars of the spirit world. It would be impossible for a preexisting spirit to shoulder the neglected duties, for each and every one that is called into being is shaped for a single exclusive purpose. Just as the earth has but one core and one sun, so, too, does a spirit have one center, one calling, one driving reason to exist, and to try to reach beyond that would have devastating consequences. As a human, you are not yet bound by such singular purpose. Therefore once you have made your decision, you will be free to replace the spirit whom you chose for destruction."

"Wait, you're saying I have to become a _spirit_?!"

"Yes."

"But I don't want to be a spirit! Everything I've seen of the spirit world is drama and arrogance and selfish manipulation. I don't want to be a part of that!"

Issitoq chuckled deeply, although Cassandra failed to see what was so funny. "This is precisely why you were chosen, child. Had you wanted to become a spirit, you would've been all too eager to choose, something that almost certainly would've led to future regrets."

Her tone grew a bit severe as she snapped, "Don't say that as if my opinion doesn't matter."

"What's done is done, child. The rite must now conclude one way or another."

"Then I just won't pick anybody."

"And doom another to suffer in your stead? Would you be so selfish?"

His tone switched from amused to harsh so quickly, Cassandra felt as if she'd just received emotional whiplash. 'Another'? Doom who? What was he talking about?

Unfortunately, Issitoq spoke again before she could come up with any reasonable deductions. His tone was now soft, almost soothing, as if he were trying to make up for snapping at her.

"Understand, Cassandra Fisher, that I know how great of a burden has been thrust upon you. Ending a life is never easy, especially when one scarcely understands why; you are not the first arbiter to loath and despair being put into such great dilemma. I chose you because you were most worthy, both of the choice and the honor of becoming a spirit."

"How could you have possibly known that though?" Like Issitoq's, her voice had grown softer. There was no point in shouting or being indignant when she was already struggling to understand and accept. "I was only two when my magic first started to set in. How could you have known way back then what I was and wasn't worthy of?"

"I weighed your heart, as I did thousands of others, and found you most suited for the task. Your situation at home only solidified my decision. While others would hesitate to abandon their family or friends, I would think you would be only too happy to leave the world of humanity behind. It has not exactly been welcoming to you."

"Because of my magic," Cassandra pointed out. Only the cloak's magic kept the words from sounding exceptionally bitter. "Without my magic I wouldn't have been a freak. If I hadn't been a freak, I wouldn't have been ostracized and treated like a piece of trash."

"Can you be so sure of that?" A tendril of root reached down from the ceiling. Ever so gently the tip touched under her chin, lifting her face just a little yet somehow causing her hood to fall back. She was now fully exposed before the Adjudicating Eye as he continued, "I have watched you your entire life, Cassandra Fisher. I know what took place within the dwelling in which you and your mother lived. Without your magic, without your abilities, would you have truly succeeded in living there? How many times did you have to sneak into the shadows in search of something to eat? How many times did you have to sit outside in the cold because your mother failed to unlock the door for you?"

He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink into her mind.

"Had I not granted you these gifts," he said softly, "you would have died in that place, young and alone, and no one would have grieved you because no one would have known you well enough to grieve."

The root withdrew, but not without brushing lightly against her cheek. Rather than feeling gross, the touch was actually a bit comforting. Perhaps it was because she understood that, as the spirit of justice and law, Issitoq was incapable of committing a crime and therefore she could rest assured in the fact that the gesture was in no way perverted or even questionable in intent.

Very, very quietly, Issitoq informed her, "That is another reason why I chose you. Because of all that you have suffered, because of all that you have endured, you alone possess the ability to truly understand."

"Understand what?"

The words came out hoarse, for her mouth was feeling inexplicably dry. Without the protective magical shell, she could feel herself growing emotional again, which at this point was beyond frustrating. She was truly sick of crying.

The answer she received was spoken in little more than a whisper: "Suffering."

"I don't understand."

"You will, child. With all my heart, I truly hope you will."

A heavy silence fell between them for a time. Cassandra didn't know what Issitoq was thinking about, but her own mind was full of oppressive thoughts. How could she possibly pick someone to die? Even though she despised the Guardians, the rabbit spirit especially, it wasn't as if she wanted any of them _dead._ That was just…just… _extreme._ She was only twelve, for fuck's sake, and he was practically putting her in charge of the death penalty. How absurd was that? And she still didn't know WHY. All that stuff about the rite and why a human was chosen made sense in its own sick, demented, absolutely twisted way, but WHY initiate the rite in the first place? What did her past and her time with her selfish, useless mother have to do with anything?

Forget obtaining answers, this trip was only making things even more horrible and complicated for her!

Eventually the silence was broken by Issitoq, who spoke into the darkness. "Any questions you might have, you may ask me. I cannot promise you satisfying answers, but I will do what I can to ease the burden of your mind."

Cassandra heaved a long sigh. Well, even a couple more answers would be better than nothing, wouldn't it? Because right now she was even more confused than she was when she arrived.

After drawing a breath, she posed her first question.

"Why were the Guardians and Pitch Black picked for the rite?"

"They are at the heart of the situation I hope to rectify."

"But North was not selected," she recalled. "Why single him out?"

"Pitch Black is the only participant who walks in darkness. Therefore had I selected all five Guardians, there would have been an eighty-three percent chance that he—and, by extension, the darkness he represents—would not be picked. The odds are still tipped rather to his favor in this respect, but as I can neither choose spirits who are not directly involved in the problem at hand nor whittle down the participants to any less than five, I was unable to actively do more to shift the balance. However, circumstances are not entirely to the Nightmare King's favor: the Guardians are allies, and as they enjoy far more freedom and security than Pitch Black does, they had a much greater chance of finding you. These truths do not negate the previous problem, of course, but they do coincide to keep any one side from having too great of an advantage."

"So you chose to exclude one of the Guardians to try and make things more equal," Cassandra mused. "I'm assuming you picked North because he was the least deserving to be selected."

"That is correct."

"How did you decide that? Did you weigh his heart like you said you did with mine?"

"That is not something I can explain to you. No one but I may know such details, otherwise spirits may seek to alter their behavior so as to avoid being selected in the future."

"But I thought you said the rite is hardly ever initiated."

"It is not, but it makes little difference. Unless they are killed by another or, like the Guardians, are forgotten by the humans they rely upon for belief, spirits are immortal. Therefore the hundreds or even thousands of years that pass between initiations will mean little to most of them."

Cassandra considered this for a moment before posing her next question. "Is your controlling Pitch Black another example of you trying to maintain balance for the rite?"

The roots twitched sharply. Issitoq was clearly taken aback by her words. "What do you mean?"

"The other night when I went to see him, he wasn't himself at all. He looked…stressed, almost ill, and his mares were terrified of him, which just isn't normal. While we were talking I could tell that he was being physically hurt whenever he tried to speak to me about certain topics, but he acted as if nothing happened. And I know I'm not crazy because that's not the first time it's happened. The first time was when I asked him what he was going to get out of this rite."

"What were you discussing during the more recent event?"

"Just some weird dreams I've been having."

"Dreams?"

"Yes."

"Pitch Black doesn't shape dreams."

Cassandra rolled her eyes and didn't even care that Issitoq could see her do it. "Nightmares, then," she corrected irritably. Really, were they reduced to playing semantics now? Fighting the urge to cross her arms indignantly, she cut to the chase. "Are you forcing Pitch to obey you to try and even the playing field?"

His response was sharp, almost cutting in its fierceness. "Absolutely not! Such a thing would invalidate the rite and betray the rules of impartiality my magic depends upon!"

"Then what the hell is going on with him? None of the Guardians are being controlled."

"That is something I cannot answer, Cassandra Fisher."

"Can't or won't?"

"Does it matter which is the case?"

Cassandra paused for a moment, shocked by the fact that the Adjudicating Eye had just asked a question that Pitch Black and posed many, many nights ago. It had been such a long time ago that she'd almost completely forgotten about it, but the sense of déjà vu was overwhelming enough to bring the memory into stark focus.

"Yes," she said slowly, suspiciously. "Yes it does matter. I know you know the answer, what with all your Watchful Eyes roaming around. So if you cannot tell me what's going on with Pitch then it means either the rules of the rite are stopping you, or your rules of impartiality are. But if it's a matter of you not _wanting_ to tell me, then I have to assume that it's because you _are_ the culprit and just don't want me to know about it."

"And the logic behind this assumption is?"

"Only that there's no other reason for you not to answer me."

A deep rumbling shook the cavern as Issitoq chuckled quietly. "You are right, Cassandra Fisher. Absolutely right." The roots swayed gently, like waves lapping upon the shore. "It is as I said: I cannot tell you what is going on with Pitch Black."

"Can you tell me then whether it's your magic or the rite stopping you?" Even if he couldn't give her a specific answer, knowing that particular detail would go a long way in helping her figure it out for herself.

Hopefully.

Issitoq's response, unfortunately, was rather ambiguous. "While I agree that I do know the answer you seek, as the matter is not in violation of any laws I am in no place to condemn it."

Cassandra's eyes widened. Did that mean it _was_ something to do with the rite? But then the expression of surprise faded into a frown. She was getting ahead of herself. Just because Issitoq didn't _personally_ agree with whatever was going on with the Nightmare King didn't necessarily prove that the situation was in any way related to the rite. Hadn't he just explained to her how he couldn't allow morality alone to sway his decisions? Surely other things had occurred (and continued to occur) in the spirit world with which the Adjudicating Eye found fault yet couldn't move to stop.

Then again…if it wasn't part of the rite why was he so reluctant to give her a straight answer? Was this some sort of privacy thing, like how human judges and lawyers were often required to keep particular details of a case secret in order to protect the privacy of the involved parties?

Immensely frustrated by the complexity of the situation, Cassandra pressed the heel of one hand to her forehead…then promptly winced when she inadvertently put pressure on the bruise left by the rabbit spirit. Unable to come up with any reasonable continuation for the previous line of inquiry, she reluctantly gave up on it for the moment and moved on to the next.

"Why do my gifts change so much? Some are very weak now when they used to be strong, and others have only gotten stronger."

"Your magic directly reflects the nature of the spirit who wields it. The more powerful your gift, the less deserving that particular spirit is of continued existence. As the spirit's worthiness rises and falls, so too does your power fluctuate."

"So…so that means Pitch Black and Jack Frost are currently the ones I'm supposed to pick from."

"If that is what your magic tells you."

She considered the implications of that. _I rely instinctively on Frost's magic when I'm in danger. Even earlier, in the corridor, I hurt that annoying spirit with ice. Is that the rite's way of telling me I ought to pick him?_

… _but I rely on shadow magic just as much, especially when I'm upset…_

The thought reminded her far too much of her recent trip under the bed, when she'd retreated to her shadow sanctuary after crying like a baby in front of Barb. It was a memory she desperately wanted to forget, and so she roughly pushed it aside. She couldn't afford to grow emotional like that again, especially not in front of Issitoq.

Cassandra pointed out, "But my hearing…my vision and sense of smell…they changed dramatically in just a couple of hours."

"Hmmmm, yes. E. Aster Bunnymund." ( _Wow,_ Cassandra thought sardonically. _His name is literally Easter Bunny.)_ "Bunnymund's failure is most disappointing. That he would forsake his Guardian's oath and attack a child is disgraceful beyond words, no matter his intent."

"I heard he's being kept in his Warren as punishment."

"He has also been stripped of his power until the rite is complete. Managing the hope of the world is all he is capable of now."

"And what if I don't choose him?" Cassandra asked. "What will be his punishment if I don't choose him? Will he just remain powerless in his hole?"

"Should you refuse to choose Bunnymund, his fate will fall into your hands."

She gaped like an imbecile. " _Mine_?"

"Destruction is the sentence typically bestowed upon those to abandon their honor so blatantly, but in the wake of the rite I have withheld such punishment. If you should choose him, his demise would both complete _Mutatis Mutandis_ and fulfill the need for justice to be dispensed. By not choosing him, you will be acknowledging that you, as the sole victim of his crime, do not consider death a suitable punishment. Therefore his fate would become yours to decide."

"But…but you're the spirit of justice and law! Why couldn't you just—"

"I do not make the rules, child, I simply adhere to them and ensure that others do the same. As I have said many, many times… _Mutatis Mutandis_ is inconceivably complicated." A long, weary sigh blew through the cavernous chamber. "Although you seven have managed to make this particular invocation even more so."

Cassandra tried—and failed—to stifle a snort. "Blame the Guardians. They're always butting their noses into other people's business."

"And yet they fail to see what is right in front of them." The roots swayed, mimicking the shaking of a head. "I was once impressed with the Man in the Moon's creations, but over time my disappointment with his choices has considerably deepened."

Perhaps he was only musing, perhaps not, but Cassandra leapt upon that comment at once. "Is that why Jack Frost's power is one of my more powerful gifts? Has he disappointed you?"

"Why do you say that?"

"You say that the Guardians have disappointed you. Fine. I can accept that, as it partially explains why they were chosen for this rite. But Frost is the youngest of the Guardians, and the newest, so logically speaking shouldn't my frost magic be weaker? He's had far less time to upset you or piss you off."

There was a momentary silence, and then Issitoq surprised her by laughing.

"Ah, child," he sighed happily, "in spite of your youth you continue to prove your worth and intuition."

"So I'm right? Frost has done something to upset you? Something very specific, I'm guessing."

"Yes, one single event that disturbed and disappointed me more than any other."

"And I'm guessing you can't tell me what it is," she grumbled.

He spoke around a chuckle; apparently he still found her capacity to think rationally amusing. "No, Cassandra Fisher, I am afraid not."

She sighed, ran a hand through her hair and shuffled her feet. Her legs were starting to go numb from standing still for so long. "What about Pitch? Why is his gift so strong? And why—" She hesitated before completing the question, uncertain as to whether or not she should make such an admission. But then she remembered that Issitoq had Eyes everywhere and probably knew all about it already. So she finished, "Why do I favor my shadow magic?"

The roots twitched almost imperceptibly, like a head being cocked to one side. "Is it not human nature to favor one particular thing over others? A type of food? A brand of clothing? A genre of music?"

"Somehow I don't think this is that simple."

"Why not?"

"Nothing is ever simple with you spirits."

"Hm." It wasn't quite a chuckle this time; it seemed his amusement was waning. "I cannot say why it is you savor one type of magic over the others. That is something you will have to decide for yourself."

How utterly useless.

"Can you tell me, then, why Pitch's nightmare sand works on me when the dream weaver's sand and Frost's magic don't?"

"Again, that is something you must determine for yourself."

Growing increasingly frustrated, Cassandra snapped, "Why can't you just tell me? If I could figure it out myself I probably would've done so already! The _Guardians_ don't even know."

"Did you not hear what I said before?" Issitoq was growing angry and frustrated too. "The Guardians fail to see what is right in front of their eyes. Do not rely upon them too heavily, child, they do not even grasp the depths of their own ignorance."

"But I can't talk to Pitch because he always gives me half-assed answers. Who else am I supposed to go to?"

"I didn't say that you could not exchange words with them, only that you should be mindful not to trust them too much."

Well _that_ particular piece of advice wasn't new. Apart from the dream weaver, Cassandra already didn't trust any of the Guardians more than she could throw them, and even with the little yellow man there was a tiny granule of skepticism taken with whatever he said. His being a part of that wretched group only served as a detriment, in her mind, though she did her best not to hold it against him.

"How much time do I have?" she asked. The anger had faded from her tone, making the words soft.

"Eleven nights."

That's it? Just eleven nights to decide who got to live and who had to die? That was hardly any time at all!

Instead of growing shocked or indignant, however, Cassandra asked wearily, "Why eleven?"

"Time, I'm afraid, is very much against you. You are young, much too young, and you are currently racing events over which you and I have absolutely no control. Based upon everything I have seen and heard, eleven nights is all you have left."

"Are you talking about the Guardians? How they're fighting? They seemed fine just the other day, the dream weaver even spoke with some of them, but now they're not speaking to each other at all."

"I am in no position to discuss the present status of the Guardians' allegiance. Let the spirits do as they will, and focus on finding your answer. Remember: while wise decisions take time, tarrying is a fool's error. Do you understand?"

She nodded weakly before asking, "What if I can't? What if I can't decide?"

"You must."

"But what if I pick the wrong one? You said you hope I make the right choice, which means you've already got it in your head which spirit I ought to choose. What if I pick the wrong one?"

"If my opinion was the only thing that mattered, child, there would be no need for the rite. I know whom _I_ wish to be selected, but for you there is no right or wrong answer. The decision is yours and yours alone to make."

"But you'll be disappointed if I don't pick who you want me to pick, right?"

Issitoq was silent for a very long time, contemplating how he should respond. When he finally answered, the words left him very slowly, deliberately, as if spoken with utmost care. "I admit that I would be deeply saddened. Your reasons for your decision would be sound, I am sure, but should you fail to see what I wish you to see then there is little more I can do to amend the present situation, and that would wound me deeply."

"You would grieve?"

"Most certainly."

"Why?"

"I cannot tell you that." The words were hardly more than a whisper, the faintest breath upon the air.

"What _can_ you tell me?"

Once again he was silent for an extensive period of time. Just when Cassandra was beginning to think that Issitoq had fallen asleep or something, he murmured to her, "I can tell you this, Cassandra Fisher, arbiter of the rite: Darkness is deepest after gazing into the light."


	18. Loss

Author's note:

Hello and welcome everyone! To all those who added this story as a favorite and/or a follow, my deepest gratitude and sincerest happiness. :D

 **Silversun XD:** Aww, thanks for the praise. :) And honestly, lots and LOTS of editing. (Seriously, like 12-15 hrs easy over the course of a week...being super self-critical doesn't always work out very well *awkward laugh*)

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Still confused? Sorry! But everything will make sense in the end, you'll see.

 **Momochan77:** Yay, I'm glad you love it! And you'll just have to wait and see what happens, I'm afraid.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Welcome back, it's so good to hear from you again! You'll get an answer about why Jack's one of the top picks in the next couple of chapters, so don't worry, the answer is coming.

 **KijoKuroi:** In essence, the rite is sort of a fail-safe for when something happens that Issitoq can't fix because of all the rules he has to follow (namely the one regarding impartiality). But he can't tell Cassandra _why_ he initiated the rite because that'll undermine her decision, so she has to figure it out for herself. In a very basic sense, it's the idea of "if you know too much your decision will be biased, which will invalidate the rite because then I, as someone who is supposed to be impartial, have in effect swayed your opinion". Does that help?

 **starthedetective:** You think reading Issitoq was annoying? Try writing him! Lol. He's definitely a pain but that's sort of what happens when you're forced to remain a truly neutral party. You start talking in weird riddles because just straight out telling the truth is against the rules, but then again you can't lie either yet you need to say _something_...it's complicated being him. XD As for the line at the end, I did make it up though I ended up tossing around about four or five different versions of the same thing before settling on that one. I'm glad you liked it.

Please enjoy!

* * *

Cassandra lay in bed, staring blankly up at the dark ceiling. After such a long journey and positively exhausting conversation sleep should've come to her easily, but it didn't. Her mind was an absolute mess, ill-formed ideas and half-hearted guesses chasing each other around and around inside her head until she grew nauseous.

 _She had to pick somebody to die…_

Who? Who was she ever going to pick? Right away she could name two people who she _wouldn't_ be choosing: the Easter Bunny and the dream weaver. The former was a complete asshole, and as she'd told him the other night she wouldn't pick him for anything, not even something terrible like this, while the latter was, quite honestly, the only one of the bunch she truly liked. Pitch was likeable enough in his own weird, greasy way, and after knowing him this long it would definitely hurt if she was forced to choose him, but unlike the dream weaver there were far too many question marks for her to rule him out completely.

 _Guess that leaves Tooth Fairy and Frost, with Pitch as a distant third…_

According to what Issitoq had told her, her magic made it clear which of the two deserved to be replaced, but she simply couldn't fathom how the white-haired boy had managed to put himself in such a predicament in the first place. If he was such a villain why was he called to be a Guardian of Childhood? And why had he asked to be _chosen_ for the rite instead of manipulating her into not picking him, like Pitch was obviously trying to do? Or, conversely, if he actually did want to be picked why hadn't he been the one to try and force her hand instead of the Easter Bunny? If he was so evil as to deserve death why wasn't he acting more despicable? Annoying and juvenile was hardly a cause for destruction, no matter whose standards one went by.

It just didn't make any fucking sense at all.

She rubbed her forehead irritably. Her magic was clearly telling her that Jack Frost and Pitch Black were the ones she ought to pick, but she just couldn't come up with any logical reason for choosing either spirit. She needed more information. But who would she get it from? It wasn't as if Pitch or any of the Guardians were going to tell her the truth anymore—at this point, it was actually in their own best interests to lie through their teeth. And Issitoq was hardly forthcoming… After dropping that completely useless nugget about darkness, he'd instructed her to open a tunnel in the dirt and return home. She'd done so without complaint, but only because she'd known that the Adjudicating Eye was done playing Twenty-Questions with her. The dismissal had been polite, gentle even, but very clear:

She was now on her own.

Turning over onto her side, Cassandra readjusted the pillow and stared glumly at her alarm clock. It was currently 2:02 A.M. She had to be up for school in a couple of hours, her first day back since the…incident. She just hoped Mr. Bennett was still suffering under whatever repercussions he'd earned himself for harassing her, because she wanted nothing more than for him to stay the hell away from her. After catching his eye in the emergency room, she knew without a shred of doubt that he'd figured out precisely what had happened between her and the Easter Bunny and the very last thing she wanted to deal with right now was his self-righteous, pretentious, ever-blabbering existence.

Idly twirling a thin tendril of yellow dream sand, Cassandra watched as a myriad of shapes lazily appeared and disappeared from the little cloud: a duck, a piano, a girl doing the high jump (one of the three events Cassandra participated in during track), a bubbling brook…

It was the image of water that made Cassandra sit bolt-upright in bed. Water reminded her of the St. Lawrence River, which reminded her of her memory box, which reminded her of the fact that the Tooth Fairy's power was to see people's memories.

 _If I have her powers,_ she realized in shock, _I can probably see memories too. I can look back through Frost's and Pitch's memories and see for a_ fact _why Issitoq chose them!_

Unfortunately, the rush of elation faded as she remembered a couple of things. For starters, the Tooth Fairy saw those memories by using teeth as a conduit, and Cassandra didn't have teeth from either Frost or Pitch. Secondly, there was no proof that she could even use that power; all she'd ever done was collect teeth and hoard things to protect the memories they represented, she'd never actually _recalled_ anybody else's memories. As made clear by her peculiar limits with the dream sand, her magical gifts weren't always exact replicas.

Thirdly, and definitely most importantly, why should she go poking her nose into other people's memories when she'd been horrified and infuriated by the very same invasion of privacy when the Guardians had suggested the Tooth Fairy read _her_ teeth?

Cassandra lay back down again, puzzling over the problem. Leaving aside the issue of accessing teeth for now, she figured she could probably convince Frost to let her take a peek into his past if given the chance to ask. He _wanted_ to get picked, after all, so there wasn't any reason for him to say no. Pitch, on the other hand, would be a completely different story. Not only was he an exceptionally proud and private person, he was currently being controlled by another spirit, and there was simply no way that spirit would allow her to go poking into Pitch's past because then she'd probably find out what was going on.

The thought of that gave her pause. What if…what if she wasn't looking into Pitch's memories just to snoop, but to actually try to help him? If she did take a look and found out who was behind the Nightmare King's incredibly odd behavior, perhaps she could figure out a way to help him break free. Regardless of whether or not he deserved to be picked for the rite, _nobody_ deserved to be treated like some sort of slave, not even the selfish and egotistical Boogeyman.

But what if she took a look and _didn't_ find anything? If that happened, Pitch would be furious with her, still enslaved, _and_ the spirit controlling him would know that she was trying to free him, which could spawn any number of retaliations.

After a great deal of contemplation, it became clear to Cassandra that the only thing she could do was go talk to the Tooth Fairy. Even if the fairy queendidn't possess any of Frost's or Pitch's teeth, perhaps she could give Cassandra advice about how the power over memories worked. Maybe—Cassandra's hope rekindled a little—maybe it was even possible for the magic to work on something other than teeth. Just because that was the fairy's preference didn't necessarily mean it had to be her own, right? After all, her memory magic hadn't just compelled her into collecting teeth but various other items as well. If she could learn how to use the fairy's power properly, surely she could then use it to access the memories stored within other inanimate objects, thereby circumventing the lacking-spirits'-teeth issue.

Cassandra's eyes immediately trailed over her backpack, where it sat propped up against the dresser. Her cloak was hidden inside it, buried at the very bottom. Pitch had given it to her right around the time he started to act strange. So maybe…maybe memories of the culprit were stored in there…

The inspiring train of thought was abruptly interrupted by an enormous yawn. Struck by the intensity of that involuntary reaction—for it reminded her that she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in quite a while—she listened to what her exhausted body was telling her and closed her eyes. It took a while to calm her thoughts, but eventually she dozed off. Thankfully no strange dreams came to haunt her, so she slept hard until Barb woke her up for school.

The school day proceeded well enough. She had a quiz in math that she was pretty sure she passed, and thankfully Mr. Bennett was still avoiding her so she didn't have to deal with him at all. She then spent the better part of the afternoon doing homework at the edge of the track while the rest of the team practiced; since she was absent the previous day, she had a bit of catching up to do. Coach Sophie took her doctor's note without comment, but Cassandra had been expecting that. That woman was the queen of acting like nothing was wrong, quite unlike her excitable, jittery brother.

After practice Cassandra enjoyed a quiet ride home. Even though the track was less than a mile from the duplex, Barb had insisted on picking her up because she needed to "take it easy". Cassandra wondered just how long the pandering was going to last, until she realized with a silent scoff: _No more than ten nights, really._

They had steak stir-fry for dinner. It tasted good, but Cassandra really didn't pay attention to what she was putting into her mouth. Her thoughts were rather preoccupied, both with the memory-reading and the much larger conundrum of picking someone for the _Mutatis Mutandis_ rite. Barb kept casting her odd looks across the table but otherwise didn't acknowledge her ward's obvious preoccupation. Even when they sat through an entire television program in total silence, the woman made no comment. It was probably extremely rude of her to completely ignore someone who'd only been good to her (so far), but Cassandra's head was just too full to spare Barb more than a passing thought.

Later that night, Cassandra remained awake long after Barb went to bed, tossing and turning until her pajamas were static-y and uncomfortable. She got out of bed to adjust them, and glanced up to find the dream weaver hovering outside her window, an exceptionally anxious look on his pudgy yellow face. With a sigh, she opened the window but didn't step back to let him in.

"Everything's fine," she assured him. "It wasn't too terrible."

 _Do you understand now what is expected of you?_

"Yeah…"

 _How are you doing?_

On some level Cassandra knew she wasn't all right, not completely, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let the dream weaver know this. So instead of pouring out her uncertainties to him, she just shrugged.

"All right I guess. It's obviously not what I was expecting, and I sure as hell don't want to follow through with it…" Her voice trailed off for a moment. "But apparently I don't have a choice."

 _It is not something any of us wish for you, Cassandra. Truly, being in a position to choose is far worse than the prospect of being picked. You have to live with your choice for all time. The one you choose just…disappears._

"Is there a specific place spirits go when they die? Like a heaven or something?"

 _There are stories about what happens, but nothing is known for sure. Is it not the same for humans?_ He glanced away. _But even if nothing happens at all, at least that spirit won't have to live with the fact that they took a life. I truly pity you, Cassandra._

"I don't need pity," she declared at once. "I need help."

The dream weaver looked back at her, confusion largely replacing his concern.

"I need to speak to the Tooth Fairy. There are some questions I have about my magic."

His yellow eyebrows rose but he said nothing. He was clearly conflicted about helping her, and Cassandra could easily guess why.

"Are you guys really fighting? What the hell happened with all of you?"

 _It's complicated…_

Reluctant to say more, he fiddled with his hands for a while before admitting, _I cannot promise anything except that I will do my best to make it possible for you two to meet._

"Thanks. That's all I want."

 _May I ask you something?_

"Go ahead."

 _How much time do you have?_

She hesitated before answering. There wasn't any reason not to tell him, right? "Eleven nights, but if you count last night as the first and tonight as the second, there's only nine left."

He looked positively alarmed by the news. _That's all?!_

"Yeah…"

Spying the glum expression on her face, the dream weaver composed himself. Reaching out with one tiny hand, he touched her under the chin with the edge of one finger and lifted her face until they were gazing into each other's eyes.

 _I cannot speak for Pitch,_ he said with his symbols, _but know that we Guardians will not hold it against you no matter who you pick._

"Even if it's one of you? Even if it's someone you believe _didn't_ deserve to be chosen?"

 _You don't deserve to be in this situation at all, Cassandra. If you look at it from Issitoq's perspective, it is_ our _fault that you are in this mess in the first place. So if anyone should be laying blame, it is you._

Feeling immensely weary all of a sudden, Cassandra lamented, "Nine nights isn't nearly enough time."

 _For a decision like this, no amount of time will ever truly be adequate. I will do my utmost to arrange a meeting between you and Tooth Fairy. Whatever occurs between us Guardians right now should not affect you or whatever you need to help you make your decision. That just wouldn't be fair._

"What's going on with you guys? What's this whole mess about?"

 _Things have become…complicated. Jack disappeared after he met with you the other night. He thought the rest of us wanted him to get picked, that's why he asked you to choose him. It isn't true,_ he added hastily when Cassandra raised a quizzical brow. _But that's what he thought. And Bunny…well, you know. Let's just say that's had an effect on the rest of the group._

So the stress was wearing them down, huh. Cassandra felt a little bit better knowing she wasn't the only one feeling frazzled and emotionally shattered right now.

Floating back from the window, the dream weaver stated silently, _You should hear from Tooth in a night or two. If not…_

"Then she said no."

He nodded with a weak smile before sailing away on the back of a giant yellow stingray. The corner of Cassandra's mouth twitched a little at the display of truly whimsical fantasy.

It was the last bit of happiness she'd get that night.

* * *

"Run, run, little girl."

She was already running. She was sprinting as hard as she could, heart pounding, chest heaving, breath burning her lungs and throat, fleeing as if her very life depended on it.

"Run, run!" the voice taunted, laughing in maniacal amusement as she strained every muscle in her desperate effort to escape. "You won't get away from me twice!"

Tendrils of shadow appeared from the nothingness surrounding her. With a lurch of the stomach she glanced down and realized they were those snake-like monsters from her last vision. But they weren't the ones speaking to her. No. Not only did those disgusting things lack mouths, they were too busy slithering after her, reaching out, snatching for her arms and ankles as she struggled to dodge their lightning-quick attacks. Somehow, miraculously, she managed to evade capture each time, although there was one heart-stopping moment where she stumbled and nearly fell. The voice, she knew, was coming from a much larger being, one that was currently sprinting after her with its very _large,_ nimble body. Claws screeched against the ground as it gave chase, determined to catch her.

She had no idea what it was and she didn't dare look back.

" **You think you can escape from me**?!" Frustration and fury were suddenly very apparent in the creature's venomous words. "No one has ever escaped me! I will catch you! I will consume you! I **WILL** break you, Issitoq's wretched instrument!

" **YOU WILL NOT DENY ME WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE!** "

Cassandra woke with a gasp, sweat coating every inch of her body. Her pajamas stuck to her skin, making her feel grossly hot and swampy. She rose from bed to stand on trembling legs, pushing damp hair out of her eyes. Every muscle in her body burned, but those in her legs ached most of all.

 _Damn…it feels like I was actually running…_

The clock read 4:12 A.M. It was still too early to get up for school, but she didn't dare go back to sleep again. Not with that…that _thing_ lurking in her nightmares. After witnessing the torturous end of her double in the last vision, she didn't want to find out what would happen should that mysterious monster catch up with her.

As her breathing finally began to slow, Cassandra started to pace. As disturbingly terrifying as this latest dream had been, it also served as a vital clue. _"'I will catch you! I will consume you! I_ _ **WILL**_ _break you, Issitoq's wretched instrument!'"_ The threat was clear, as was the evidence that Pitch Black wasn't entirely at fault for these dark visions. For a manipulative jerk, Pitch was actually fairly decent in terms of his conduct: he'd left her brother alone when she'd told him to; he'd given her _some_ answers, even if they were clouded by half-truths and straight-out lies more often than not; and after coercing her into corrupting one child's dream into a nightmare he hadn't brought the matter up ever again. Not once had he threatened her, directly or otherwise, and except for the occasional foreboding shiver she'd never felt afraid in his presence until the other night. Something had changed recently, and she knew now that that "something" was the interference of another spirit, one who was shamelessly controlling the Nightmare King. It must have been lurking around for quite some time, at least as long as Cassandra knew Pitch, but it was only growing viler and more domineering the closer they drew to the end of the rite. The sudden onset of these dark visions was proof of that. It also made sense now why Pitch hadn't been able to answer her when she'd asked him what he was going to get out of the rite; doing so would've inadvertently revealed the culprit's desires, which would've given away its presence much, much sooner.

If only she knew _why_ Pitch was being manipulated, then maybe there would be a better chance for her to actually do something about it…

Cassandra ran a hand through her unkempt brown hair. More and more it was looking like she _should_ pry into the Nightmare King's memories, yet she still felt incredibly guilty for even considering such a thing. But she only had nine more nights, nine incredibly short nights before she had to resolve the rite and become a spirit herself, and who knew what she would and would not be able to do once she too was bound by Issitoq's stupid rules.

Still pacing relentlessly, her fists clenched decisively at her sides. _If this makes me a hypocrite, so be it._ _It's the only way for me to get a clear picture of what's going on, the only way for me to possibly help him, and that matters more than my pride._

* * *

"But we can't," Bunny interjected. "If you go ahead with this, Fisher will know you two aren't really mad at each other."

 _I did not promise that I would arrange it, only that I would try,_ Sandy reminded the agitated Pooka. _I can always turn her down and claim Tooth refused to speak to me. But I think she needs this._

"But why? She's ever shown interest in Tooth or the memory powers before!"

"That was before she knew what she had to do," Tooth stated quietly, her pale face pensive. "I think she wants to look into our memories to see who we truly are and to judge our worth. She's trying to be completely rational and fair with her decision."

Bunnymund didn't fail to notice the hint of pride in the fairy's words. "And you're _okay_ with that?!"

"I don't understand why you're so worried, Bunny. The only ones whose teeth I have…" She paused as the words suddenly stuck in her throat. She had to swallow before finishing. "The only ones whose teeth I have are Jack…and Pitch."

"Eh? You have one of his too?"

"The one I knocked out at the pond, remember? One of my fairies picked it up. She didn't want it lying around, and I can't say I blame her."

"And you've got mine from when I was a kid," Jack stated in a neutral tone. "I don't think that's gonna tell her much…so I guess it's okay for you to let her borrow them."

"Hold on," Bunny cut in hastily. He stared up at Jack with wide eyes. "Are you really okay with that? You only just got those memories back yourself, mate."

"If it'll help her understand why Manny chose me then I don't see how it could hurt." Jack scratched at his snow-white hair. "Yeah I don't like her being in my business, but we've poked into hers enough times by now that this is the least we owe her." He shrugged. "If I consider it a matter of common courtesy, it's really not that bad."

"What about Pitch?" North inquired of Tooth. "He will not agree, and you do not usually allow others to share memories without permission, no?"

She replied slowly, contemplatively, "Normally, no, as it's a matter of personal privacy…but she's the arbiter, North. She _needs_ to know what drives us, what makes us who we are, in order to make a sound decision. I cannot help her with the rest of us, apart from sharing what I can of my own past if she wishes to hear it, but with Jack and Pitch I _can_ help her understand. If that will help guide her, I think she deserves to know." She lifted her chin resolutely. "And if that turns out to be wrong and makes me more susceptible to being chosen, so be it. I won't regret it, because it _is_ the right thing to do."

North patted her on the back with one massive hand, a gentle smile upon his face. Jack and Sandy also looked pleased with Tooth's pronouncement, but Bunnymund—ever the outlier—still wasn't entirely convinced.

"What if she finds out about the plan?"

"As long as she doesn't see us together, she won't," Tooth Fairy told him calmly. "I can have her meet me in the Tooth Palace, that way we're far from the Warren and the rest of you. I'm not mad at her, either in reality or for the ruse against Pitch, so I don't have to act antagonistic towards her at all. I can be completely myself, apart from pretending to be fed up with you four."

"I dunno, she's pretty smart. What if she figures out what's really going on?"

"She may ask about it but will not linger on the topic for long," North reasoned. "She is coming with clear purpose, no?"

Jack added, "She's only got nine nights left, she can't waste time on our silly spats."

Clearly outvoted, Bunny acquiesced with a grunt. "All right, all right." That didn't stop him from putting one last cent in there, though. "You'd best be careful, Tooth. If Fisher figures us out, it's all over."

* * *

It was well after dark when Sophie Bennett finally left work. Track practice had run later than usual, and after tripping in her office she'd inadvertently spilled paperwork everywhere. Since the end of the year was coming up, grades were due, and she'd spent the better part of the evening cursing her indisputable clumsiness as she tried to sort test papers and mini-projects into the appropriate class folders. (She was one of the only physical education teachers in the entire district who gave out tests and homework, but she honestly didn't care; as she'd explained to her classes on the very first day, she needed something other than physical presence to grade. She wasn't about to give passing scores to kids who showed up half-asleep or hung over from partying all weekend and stood in the corner zoned out. The work she necessitated was never hard, but she graded it heavily; those that did it even acceptably well achieved easy A's, while those who didn't suffered the consequences of their contemptible laziness.)

Crossing the empty parking lot to her car, Sophie paused to fumble in her pocket for her keys. With an awkwardly-shaped duffel bag slung over one shoulder and three broken fingers splinted and wrapped beyond recognition, it wasn't an easy feat, and one she knew she wouldn't be able to manage without tripping unless she stopped. By the time she pulled the infuriating things from her pocket, she looked up just in time to see something black vanish abruptly behind a tree. She frowned but shrugged it off. Reaching her car, she pressed the button to unlock it and chucked her bag into the back seat. Shutting the door with a bang that echoed obnoxiously loud in the still Burgess air, Sophie opened the driver's side and was just about to climb in when a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Now here is something you don't see every day: a grown woman who still believes."

A shiver ran the length of Sophie Bennett's spine. The arrogant drawl reminded her far too much of Pitch Black, and yet this voice was clearly not Pitch's. It was older, a little deeper, and the accent was off.

The voice continued, "I had heard tales in recent years of human adults who kept their belief, but I did not believe a single word. In the four thousand years that I have walked this earth such a thing has never been witnessed, therefore I considered it to be nigh impossible."

Sophie stiffened when she suddenly felt a dark presence very, _very_ close behind her. Warm breath grazed her neck as the spirit leaned in close and breathed deeply, causing her to tremble from a combination of fear and revulsion.

"Get away from me," she hissed, but the words came out more like a plea than a command.

The spirit withdrew with a quiet laugh.

"Ah, so you really do believe. When you reacted to seeing my sprite I thought to myself 'Oh, perhaps she is one of those whom others whisper about'. Not being one to just assume such things, of course, I decided to test the notion. And wouldn't you know? It seems my instincts were right, as usual."

He practically oozed satisfaction as he finished, "You really should have gone about your way. Pretending not to see or hear me would've forced me to consider the possibility that you are simply superstitious and therefore more sensitive to spiritual aura than the average mortal."

Angry and humiliated over being tricked, Sophie plopped into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. She stuck the key into the ignition then nearly leapt out of her skin as she realized the disgusting spirit was now inexplicably sitting right next to her in the passenger's seat, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. The spirit was short, probably about five foot tall give or take an inch, with silver-gray hair that was flawlessly combed, exposing a small forehead and a surprisingly handsome face. As his voice suggested (though one could never quite tell with spirits) he did indeed appear older than Pitch, not just in the hair but in the way his face was lined around the mouth and between the perfectly sculpted eyebrows. His eyes were mostly gray but were streaked through with thin wisps of acid green, giving them an almost marble-like appearance.

Sophie was staring, but she was in no way drawn to the spirit's handsome, gentlemanly façade. Rather her eyes were enormous and she struggled to control her racing heart as the strange spirit stared calmly back at her, the faintest of smiles ghosting his lips.

"You must be one of the Bennetts," he concluded. "You and your brother share a most peculiar bond with the Guardians, one which gives you a truly unprecedented ability to see the unseen. That you can converse with me in spite of the fact that we've never before crossed paths is indisputable proof of this." His strangely colored eyes grew a little sad although Sophie instinctively knew he wasn't truly capable of feeling any sort of remorse. "It will be such a pity to see a pretty thing like you cry."

"Leave me alone and you will never have to," Sophie declared with far more courage than she actually felt.

He chuckled, the sound echoing deep in his chest as he finally broke eye contact. Sophie had to stifle a sigh of relief as he turned his head to stare through the darkened windshield.

"You misunderstood, my dear," he explained calmly. " _I_ will not be the one to make you cry. I do not have to do a thing, really."

"Who are you?" she interrupted suddenly. She didn't like where the other subject was headed.

"I am Morsoi, the spirit of pestilence and plague." When Sophie visibly recoiled from him, he chuckled again. "Do not worry. I have no intention of infecting you. That would put me right in the middle of this little drama, and believe me it is _much_ more fun to simply sit back and spectate."

Curiosity and concern for the Guardians (Bunnymund more than the others) got the better of her. "Do you know what's going on?"

When he looked back at her, his smile was far more pronounced than it had been before. "Do you not know? I thought everyone knew by now."

"Are the Guardians in trouble? Are they in danger?"

"What would you do if they were, little human? Would you help them?"

She scowled. "I can't."

He uttered an understanding noise. "Ah. Issitoq has already gotten to you then." The corner of his mouth curled as he waggled a finger at her condescendingly. "You really should have minded your own business."

"If you're not going to tell me what's going on then go away so I can go home."

"So impatient," he sighed. Then he shrugged. "Well, with a lifespan as limited and unpredictable as yours, I think I can understand why even the most trivial of seconds become so important to you."

Sophie pointedly started the car, the engine roaring to life in the empty high school parking lot.

"I simply do not know what I am allowed to say to you, Bennett woman," Morsoi said, the picture of innocence. "We don't want you getting into trouble with Issitoq now, would we?"

Sophie's mind raced as she thought of a way to explain without breaking the stringent rules outlined in the judgment scroll presented to her and Jamie. Finally, she came up with, "Say nothing of the dark spirits, and nothing of magic."

"Ah. I see now…so you tried to woo a certain little girl to the Guardians' side. That certainly would make our dear Adjudicating Eye irate."

"Answer or leave." She threw the vehicle into drive and made to step on the gas…

"One of the Guardians is going to die."

Sophie was so shocked her foot nearly slipped off the brake. She stared at the spirit of pestilence, dumfounded into silence for a long moment.

Then…

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie? I have no position in this. As I've already told you, it is much more fun to observe than to participate."

"Then why are you talking to me right now?"

He leered at her, no longer handsome but grotesque, marred by the truly vile gleam in his eyes. "Because I want to be entertained."

"So you _are_ lying."

"Trust me, little human, the truth is far more pleasurable than any lie I could possibly conceive."

They sat in silence for several tense minutes, simply staring at one another. Sophie's throat worked almost compulsively as she struggled to decide whether or not this Morsoi spirit was telling the truth. It would be much, much easier for her to accept that he was lying to her, but that was only because she didn't want to fathom what it would mean if it turned out he wasn't.

Unfortunately, she had the gnawing suspicion that he really wasn't lying to her.

"Who?" she whispered at last. "Who's going to die?"

"Why don't you ask them yourself? Or…" he drawled with a truly wicked smile, "…perhaps you should ask someone else."

In the time it took Sophie Bennett to blink, the spirit of pestilence was gone. She was alone in her car in the empty parking lot, her mind and heart struggling under the burden of what she'd just learned.

 _She's going to do it…Fisher's really going to kill one of the Guardians._

Sophie didn't know how that was possible, or why, but she strongly suspected the girl's odd powers had something to do with it. As for Bunnymund's attack on the child a few nights ago, that made sense now too. Sophie knew Bunnymund better than any of the believers in Burgess, even her own brother. Jamie was positively obsessed with Jack Frost, and while Sophie's own fascination with the Pooka had faded as she grew older she still considered him a very close friend. Hell, when she'd broken up with her very first boyfriend in tenth-grade he was the one she went to for comfort. At that time it had been nearly three years since they'd last seen each other, and Bunnymund was clearly shocked by both her abrupt visit and the immense awkwardness of having a sobbing teenager throw herself at him, but he'd held her and let her cry herself out without uttering a single word. In a world where her clumsiness and inability to maintain long-term relationships of any sort thanks to her odd behavior and even odder brother, whom most of Burgess swore was either the best teacher alive or absolutely insane, Bunnymund was someone who was always there when she needed him. No matter when, no matter why, no matter how many years they spent apart, she knew she could go to him and he would help her without question. He was loyal to a fault, and did everything he could for those who needed him.

That was why Bunnymund's attack on Cassandra Fisher had confused and concerned Sophie so tremendously. She knew it was absolutely unlike the steadfast Guardian to attack a child, yet no matter what anyone else might say Sophie also knew that Fisher wasn't one to strike first. The girl was proud and bold for sure, it showed clearly in the way she'd stood up to Jamie at the restaurant, but she never made the first move. Never. Like at practice—the girl spoke if others spoke to her, but she never initiated conversation and never _ever_ offered anything more than absolutely necessary. If the other girls said hi to her, she said hi back, and that was the end of it. She kept entirely to herself, and Sophie could truly understand why. She'd been like that herself at one point in time, although her social isolation had been due to embarrassment caused by her insurmountable clumsiness and the humiliation of having a spirit-world-obsessed brother who just did not know when to shut up. As they grew up and eventually forgot, Jamie's friends (who for the most part were also Sophie's friends) began to distance themselves from the boy who steadfastly refused to give up on talk of Jack Frost and the Easter Bunny. The happy-go-lucky boy took everything in stride for the most part, but the change was much harder on Sophie, who'd never had that many friends to begin with. Out of all the kids who'd stopped Pitch Black twenty years ago, Monty was the only one who still remembered and believed, but unlike Jamie he knew when to keep his mouth shut for the sake of appearances. Being the quintessential nerd had made it hard enough for the blonde boy to make friends in school, and so he'd sacrificed his place at Jamie's side in order to remain close with the others, who now shied from the Bennetts as if they were diseased. To this day, none of them except Monty ever spoke to the Bennetts, and even that was only if Jamie initiated contact.

Yes, Sophie Bennett completely understood why Cassandra felt like a social outcast who had to struggle to fit in any way she could. She knew that being invisible was better than being labeled a freak because that was precisely how _she_ had gotten through much of middle and high school.

So if Cassandra had been in a fight with Bunnymund, Sophie knew it had to be because the Pooka had attacked the girl first.

And based upon what Morsoi had just told her, she finally understood why.

 _She has to kill one of them, for whatever reason, so he attacked her to try and force her into killing him._

The thought made her want to cry. Proud, compassionate, hot-headed Bunnymund had tried to sacrifice himself in order to protect his friends.

Staring blankly through the windshield, clutching the steering wheel tightly in both hands, another thought suddenly popped into Sophie Bennett's mind.

 _Jamie and I were punished because we tried to stop her from being friendly with Pitch Black. We were banned from speaking about Cassandra or her magic, and Pitch Black all together…_

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel even harder. _He's part of this. Somehow Pitch Black is a part of this mess, and he's using Cassandra to protect himself…_

Then it clicked.

 _That's it…Pitch is using her because he's trying to protect himself._

 _He's in the potential killing pool as well._

There was no thought from that point, only action. With her foot still planted firmly on the brake, Sophie reached back for her duffel bag and snagged her cell phone from an outer pocket. Holding it in her damaged hand while she typed with the other, she sent a short text to her brother. Then she threw the phone into the backseat, placed her foot on the gas pedal, and started to drive.

* * *

Jamie was headed home from the gym when his phone vibrated in the cup holder, making the loose change collected in there rattle angrily. At the next stop sign, he glanced into the rearview, saw nobody coming, and checked the screen.

Odd. Why was Sophie texting him this time of night? A quiet snort of a laugh escaped through his nose as he thought: _Maybe she broke another finger_.

He opened the message with a flick of the thumb. A cursory glance became a look of wide-eyed horror as realization crashed over him.

No. NO!

He swung the car into a sharp U-turn, nearly clipping the dark blue BMW he hadn't seen crossing the intersection. Furious shouting and the angry blaring of a car horn were completely lost upon Jamie Bennett, who was now speeding across town as if the devil himself were on his tail. His sister's message played on repeat in his head like some sort of sick, foreboding dirge:

im going to forget. sorry


	19. Belief

Author's Note:

Hello and welcome all! And to all of those who celebrate the holiday, happy belated Easter! XD Big thank-yous to everyone who marked my story as a follow and/or favorite, and to everyone who left a review. The positive feedback always puts an extra pep in my step. :)

 **WinterCrystal1009** : I figured you were around, but it's still nice to hear from you again. I haven't read the books either so I actually don't know much of anything about the fearlings except that they're...well, a thing. Like I know they exist in the novels but that's all. So if you do see a connection then it's a coincidence, but if comparing this story to the novels somehow deepens your interpretation then by all means have at it. As I've said before I'm not one to shoot down people's theories because that hinders creative thought. ;) As for the other kids being 'horrible friends', I don't really see it that way. Yeah it kinda sucks how they left Jamie, but kids change friends all the time for many different reasons, and you have to admit that it's really weird for a high school kid to not only still believe in the Easter Bunny but to also openly talk about it. So to me it would sort of make sense for them all to drift apart if any of them forgot/lost belief because the difference between Jamie (who would be seen as very immature and weird under those circumstances) and the others would just be too much for the friendship to last.

 **beccadarlingmusic:** Not binge-reading huh? Tsk tsk. ;) But I'm glad you like it so much, it's great to see more and more people from my other stories tagging along for this ride.

 **Silversun XD:** Glad you liked it. :)

 **Momochan77:** I honestly didn't even think about it until you said something...but I _am_ being horrible to Bunny in this story aren't I? I'm sorry! *Bows* ...but also not sorry, because it has to be done. I feel bad for you since he's your favorite, but this story really isn't being nice on anybody, so...

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Read on and you'll see how she does it. :(

Quick note: this chapter's a bit shorter than the others because it's more of a build-up for the next two chapters, which may take a bit of time to write because they're gonna be doozies. Not quite as bad as the chapter with Issitoq (thank goodness) but they're very important so I know I'm gonna have to put a lot of time into them to make them just right. So this is more of a tide-over until then.

Please enjoy everyone!

* * *

Nine-oh-six p.m. was far too late for anyone to be knocking at the door, especially at Barb's house. From her bedroom, Cassandra could hear the blonde muttering furiously to herself as she made her way down the hall. Something about "Someone had _better_ be dead." The incessant pounding had also set Barney off, which didn't help matters (or Cassandra's sensitive ears). The mongrel yapped and yipped as it scurried frantically between the door and Barb's ankles, and more than once Cassandra heard the woman cursing the "damn dog" under her breath. It would've been funny had she not been preoccupied with wondering just what the hell was going on.

Through layers of plaster and paint, creaking hinges announced the front door being yanked open. Barb's muffled voiced stated starkly, "What are you doing here?"

The voice that answered was shockingly familiar, if rather rushed. "I need to speak to Cassandra."

"Do you even know what time it is?"

"Please. It's urgent."

"Is someone dead?"

"Not yet."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Cassandra had leapt out of bed as soon as she heard her track coach say her name and was already approaching the kitchen when Barb's shocked exclamation filled the air. She stopped just inside the room, watching in startled silence as the two blonde women squared off. As she was facing the right direction the younger (and shorter) of the pair noticed her presence first. Coach Sophie ducked under Barb's arm and strode forward in all haste, the immense purpose of her gait almost causing Cassandra to take a protective step away from her. She spoke as soon as she was within reaching distance of the girl, the words leaving her mouth in a rush.

"I know what you have to do, Cassandra, and I know what you probably _won't_ do. But you _have_ to pick Pitch. Please! Bunny was only trying to protect the others he would never have done anything like this otherwise!"

In a loud, highly offended tone, Barb declared, "The hell are you talking about? Get out of my house before I call the cops!"

Coach Sophie acted as if she hadn't heard a single word, her sole focus being Cassandra Fisher (who was still too shocked and confused to say anything herself). She didn't even appear to notice the older woman's approach, how Barb was reaching out to grab her arm at the very same time she dug into her pocket for her cell phone…only to curse obscenely over the fact that she couldn't find it. As the frantic search for the misplaced phone began, the coach's inexplicable rant continued.

"The Guardians are truly unique. No one will ever be able to replace them. But Pitch…! If you pick him this whole mess will be over, the kids will be safe, everything will be all right again! Choose him so we can get a spirit of fear who actually works with the Guardians instead of always trying to—"

She had reached out to grab a stunned Cassandra by the arms when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Cassandra's jaw sagged a bit as bright green eyes glazed over, leaving Coach Sophie looking either exceptionally high or very near comatose. Even Barb noticed the abrupt silence, pausing in her hurried rifling through the contents of the now disastrous kitchen to stare over at the frozen blonde.

"A-are you okay?" she asked, stammering a little in her surprise.

Cassandra just continued to watch in silence as awareness slowly reappeared in Coach Sophie's eyes. The young woman blinked then looked down.

"Cassandra?"

Those green eyes dropped to the hands she currently had in a near vice-like grip around the girl's upper arms (although, admittedly, only one of her hands could use the full force of all five fingers). She let go abruptly and took a step back, apologies falling from her tongue in rapid succession.

"I'm so sorry! I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me! I—"

She stopped talking again as she realized where she was. A rather puzzled expression fell over her face as she looked around, taking in Barb and the unfamiliar surroundings.

"What was I doing here again?"

It was at that moment Mr. Bennett decided to make his blundering appearance, all-but stampeding into the kitchen in a wide-eyed panic. He spotted Sophie and dashed to her at once, taking her by the shoulders and turning her sharply to face him.

"Sophie! Sophie, are you all right?!"

She frowned up at him, even more confused than before. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your text…!" he gasped. "You said you were going to forget!"

"Forget what?"

He froze. Cassandra swore she saw a slight tremble take over his rather lanky frame. "You…you don't remember?"

"Remember _what,_ Jamie?" she inquired, sounding slightly exasperated now.

"Everything! The text, the scroll, the Guardians…!" As she continued to stare blankly at him, his tone became more desperate and distraught until he was very nearly pleading with her. "What about Bunnymund? You remember him, right? Six-foot-one, nerves of steel? We used to go on egg hunts together, and he'd let you ride on his back until you got too big," he added with a bit of a nervous laugh.

A soft-spoken question interrupted his rambling. "Jamie?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you talking about the Easter Bunny?"

"Yes!" Hope brightened his eyes. "Yes, yes! Oh, thank god, I was worried I was too late."

"Jamie…" Coach Sophie's tone, like her expression, was completely serious. "The Easter Bunny doesn't exist."

All hope died from his eyes as Mr. Bennett's expression crumpled. He stared at his sister for a long while, his lips working uselessly as he struggled to speak to her.

"Sophie," he whispered at last, voice choked with unshed tears, "you loved Bunnymund…how could you do this?"

His voice cracked at the end, and even though she still clearly hadn't a clue as to what he was going on about, his sister at least had the decency to appear sympathetic. She patted her brother on the shoulder as he fought the need to just completely break down, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.

"You've left me alone," he gasped around a half-swallowed sob. "You were the only one who always believed me, and now you're gone too."

Pity quickly transformed into embarrassment for Sophie Bennett. She glanced around nervously and only then seemed to remember that they were actually in somebody else's house and that there was an audience present. Thoroughly mortified, she began to usher her brother towards the door, but it was very slow going. Mr. Bennett was acting listless, feet dragging along Barb's tile floor, tears threatening to burst forth from his water-logged eyes at any moment.

Barb, meanwhile, just stood there with her jaw practically on the floor, all thought of finding her phone long since stolen away by the sheer absurdity of what she was witnessing. Even when Barney (who was absolutely beside himself at this point) jumped and clawed at her legs it seemed to barely register with her.

Cassandra at least had _something_ of an idea as to what was going on, but that partial understanding only served to make the events of the past few minutes even more shocking and disturbing. To see someone lose themselves to the thrall of another spirit, to witness firsthand how their consciousness was forcibly stolen away only to have it returned to them significantly _less,_ was deeply disquieting _._ Just like that, like a switch going off, Coach Sophie's mind had been wiped completely clean of the Guardians and Pitch Black and every other memory of the spirit world.

Is this why the coach and Mr. Bennett had been avoiding her all this time? Had they been at risk for losing their belief if they tried to sway her against Pitch Black a second time?

Her legs trembled slightly. She had known Issitoq was powerful, but to even wield power over the human _mind_? That was simply too much.

And why had Coach Sophie done it in the first place? She had to have known what the consequences would be, that was why she'd been in such a rush to get the words out. She'd wanted to speak what was on her mind before she was forced to forget everything. But why speak them at all? Why do such a blatantly foolish thing after all this time? What had happened to push her into acting so irrationally?

Unfortunately, Cassandra would probably never know. Mr. Bennett didn't even know, and he was her brother.

And the coach, of course, could no longer remember.

Coach Sophie was still trying to coax her brother out of the duplex in between offering heartfelt apologies to Barb. The older blonde just nodded mutely, still too dumbfounded to speak. But as Mr. Bennett was slowly but surely pulled from the room he turned to fix teary eyes on Cassandra.

"What did she say?" he whispered. "What did she say to you that was so damn important?"

He wasn't angry, just weak and broken, like a lost child whose final hope had been cruelly shattered. Under any other circumstances Cassandra would've mercilessly mocked the grown man for crying like a pathetic little baby, but given what had just happened she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Even she wasn't that heartless.

"I don't think I can say," she said quietly, truthfully. If talking about it was what had preempted Coach Sophie's rather abrupt amnesia, then it was fairly safe to say that repeating the conversation to her brother would have the very same effect, and she in no way wanted any part of that.

Then again, maybe right now that was what he wanted… Maybe he was tired and overwhelmed and just ready to give up. Maybe he saw Cassandra as an easy way out of a tangled heap that had only grown and grown ever since he was a child.

Even if that were so, Cassandra absolutely refused to do it. Bad enough she was already doomed to kill someone, she would not be responsible for _two_ people having their memory wiped clear of the spirit world.

Mr. Bennett's head nodded just the tiniest, dejection written over every single feature of his expressive face. Under his sister's direction he shuffled out the door. When the still-barking Barney tried to tear after them, Coach Sophie used her foot to gently but firmly guide the mongrel back into the house so she could close the door.

A short time later, a car started, a second one soon following. Shortly afterward both vehicles drove away, until not even Cassandra's hyper-sensitive ears could detect the distinctive sound of their motors.

Not at all immune to the awkward silence that had fallen over the duplex in the absence of the two teachers, Cassandra nervously shuffled her feet. She glanced over at Barb, wondering how the woman was going to react. How would anyone react to such an absurd series of events? And how in the hell was Cassandra ever going to explain it?

"Cassandra…"

The girl blinked as Barb finally came out of her stupor. The woman was now looking at her, green eyes staring directly into brown, the expression she wore a mixture of immense confusion and deep concern.

"…what the hell just happened?"

Cassandra swallowed, hesitated, swallowed again.

"I want the truth." Barb's voice was quiet, gentle almost, but there was definitely no brooking for argument. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't know if I can say," she admitted at last. When it looked like Barb didn't believe her, Cassandra weakly waved one hand towards the front door, indicating the long-gone Bennetts.

Barb understood her meaning perfectly. "I see…"

Another silence descended. Cassandra began to wonder if, perhaps, she should just go back to her room for now. Let the woman process. She backed up a step, watching Barb's face carefully. The woman didn't move or speak, so she backed up two more steps, turned, and retreated.

For the rest of the night, the house was deathly quiet.

* * *

Barbra Williamson sat at her desk in her office, staring blankly at her computer screen. Thank god it was a slow day, because it had been next to impossible for her to concentrate. All morning long her mind kept drifting back to the positively bizarre yet absolutely undeniable events of the previous night, as again and again her brain struggled to inject some sort of logic into the strange scenario. But it came up fantastically short every single time. There was just _no_ explanation for any part of what had happened, least of all Cassandra's rather offhand reaction to it. The girl had been shocked to be sure, and even a bit worried ( _Perhaps,_ Barb thought, _maybe even a tiny bit scared_ ), but at the same time she'd seemed just so…so… _accepting_. Then there was the fact she'd said "'I don't know if I can say'" when Barb had asked for the truth, repeating almost verbatim what she'd told Mr. Jamie Bennett when _he'd_ asked about his sister. Did she seriously think they would also suffer some sort of mental collapse if she tried to explain what had occurred? That was positively ludicrous!

And yet there had been a gnawing dread in Barb's gut that told her not to push it, so she hadn't.

 _It's not like I believe that nonsense,_ she decided as she idly shifted through some files on her computer. _It just wouldn't be fair to push her on this when it's clearly not her fault. She's involved to be sure, but she's twelve for god's sake. There's no way she's in any way responsible for what grown adults do in the middle of the night, especially ones with obvious mental health problems…_

The numbers on the spreadsheet she'd just opened blurred together as her mind drifted yet again. Yes. Yes that had to be it. Sophie Bennett probably had some sort of underlying condition, something that had caused her to act so irrationally and spout such nonsense only to promptly forget it had happened. But for her brother to play along at both Sophie's and Cassandra's expense was a complete outrage. She fumed at the very thought of the teacher—who was employed at Cassandra's school no less—getting some sort of sick pleasure out of seeing the young girl squirm.

Coming to an abrupt decision, Barb picked up the phone and dialed her assistant.

"Tell Larry I'll be going out for lunch. Yes, yes, I _know_ there's a meeting this afternoon, but it's important. No, not _lunch_ , Suzanne, I have something important to do _during_ lunch. I'll be back in time for the meeting. Yes," she sighed a bit exasperatedly. "Thank you."

She hung up and promptly pinched the bridge of her nose. Suzanne was a brilliant young woman, exceptionally well educated, and her work around the office was most certainly not something to sneer at, but damn she could be clueless sometimes.

Pursing her lips, Barb glanced up at the clock. Ten-thirty-two. She'd better knuckle down and get to work if she was to get anything accomplished before she left.

* * *

"I need to speak with Mr. Bennett."

Ms. Price's perfect eyebrows drew together as she frowned. Although Barb's tone was polite, her demeanor made it clear that she wasn't going to take no for an answer, and that was never a good sign.

"May I ask why?"

"It's personal," Barb responded immediately, her tone just slightly clipped. "Just tell him it's about Cassandra Fisher. He'll understand."

"Oh, you know Cassandra!"

"I do."

"Are you her mother?"

A bit of suspicion that time, one finely manicured hand inching towards the telephone.

"Hardly."

Ms. Price nodded her head and picked up the phone. After tapping a few numbers with a sharp click-click-click of her false nails, she spoke into it: "Hi, Jamie? Yes, there's a—"

"Barb Williamson."

"—Barb Williamson here to see you. She says it's about Cassandra Fisher."

Perfectly plucked brows rose sharply then rapidly plunged back down again. Truly, the woman was a masterpiece of dramatic expression.

"Yes. Yes all right. I'll send her right down."

She hung up the phone.

"Mr. Bennett will see you. Room 411. Do you know where that is?"

"I'm sure I can find it, thank you."

Indeed, Room 411 wasn't all that difficult to spot. It was the most decorated space in the entire hallway. The door was closed, but as it was lunchtime she figured that wasn't all that strange. The students were probably all down at the cafeteria. She knocked firmly yet briefly before proceeding inside with waiting for admittance.

Mr. Bennett stood at the front of the empty classroom waiting for her. Not wanting to waste time (she _was_ only allowed out of the office for an hour, and traffic right now was atrocious), she spoke directly.

"We need to talk."

He looked slightly better than he had last night, albeit rather pale about the face. He nodded his head almost absently as he glanced beyond her shoulders towards the door, which had snapped shut behind Barb even though the woman hadn't intended to close it. Then he turned and made for his desk.

Barb followed on his heels, badgering as she went. "I need to know just what the hell happened last night. What was with your sister? Does she suffer blackouts or something? And what's that nonsense about Easter Bunnies? And why the hell are you two dragging Cassandra into it? The poor girl has enough to deal with already."

It was as if Mr. Bennett had been inexplicably struck mute. Without once making eye-contact with the woman currently harassing him, he sat down at his desk, picked up a red ink pen, and began to grade papers.

Struggling to keep her temper (not always her strongest suit, unfortunately), Barb insisted, "You tell me right now, Mr. Jamie Bennett, or I swear I will _ruin_ you! I will make you rue the day you ever set foot into Cassandra's life!"

He winced but still did not look up. Papers shifted occasionally from one pile to another as they were graded.

Refusing to be ignored, she moved around the desk to stand over him, glaring down at his stupid brown-haired head. "Cassandra's had more than enough turmoil in her life, she doesn't need any crackpots making things even more difficult! I can find it in my heart to forgive your sister, that poor woman is clearly ill, but you…! _You_ and this…this…secrecy, these…lunch meetings and-and-and _bizarre_ midnight rants about bunnies and guardians and belief!" She was starting to stammer, such was the height of her indignant fury. "Just what the hell is wrong with you?!"

Silence. Positively fuming at this point, Barb leaned down to snatch at his collar and make him look at her ( _If he wants to act like a child then I'll_ treat _him like a child!)_ when something very peculiar suddenly caught her eye.

Mr. Bennett had his bag tucked under his desk, admittedly not an uncommon thing for teachers to do, but what _was_ uncommon was for them to carry around what appeared to be scrolls of parchment.

Barb stared between the mysterious item—plainly visible in Mr. Bennett's opened bag—and the man himself, who was still scratching away at his students' homework. She bent slowly, deliberately, watching his face carefully and giving him more than enough time to refute her if he so wished.

He did not, yet she didn't fail to note that his expression was oddly grim as yet another paper made its way from one pile to the other.

She retrieved the scroll, straightened, and opened it. Her jaw sagged weakly as she read, each word printed there more bizarre and absolutely insane than the last. Pitch Black? Guardians of Childhood? Nightmare King? ' _Human employment_?' Just what the hell was all this?!

But then she read the last paragraph, and her stomach twisted into a hard knot.

 _Any and all provisions enclosed within this order have been enacted due to the biased, unsolicited influence the humans Jamie Bennett and Sophie Bennett sought to impart upon the child Cassandra Fisher on behalf of the Guardians of Childhood. Failure to comply with these commands will result in the humans Jamie Bennett and Sophie Bennett losing the rights and privileges bestowed upon them by their unprecedented belief._

Shock, disbelief, and then denial descended upon her in waves. It _couldn't_ be… This had to be a joke, some horrible prank these two vile, cruel human beings were pulling on a vulnerable child who had no one to turn to for help. It couldn't possibly be anything else.

Green eyes returned to the middle of the proclamation as her gaze fixed upon one particular name.

 _E. Aster Bunnymund._

She stared at it dumbly. Then she studied at the names that came before and after it.

Jack Frost

Nicholas St. North

Toothiana

Sandman

"Is this a joke?"

Her throat was tight, so the question came out as a whisper. Looking up from the scroll of parchment in her hand, which trembled slightly for some odd reason, she glared accusingly at Mr. Bennett's bowed head. "Do you really expect me to believe this shit?"

She flung the scroll onto the desk. Or tried to, anyway. It landed heavily before sliding off and landing in a crumpled mess on the floor. Barb glared at it as if it, too, were somehow responsible for trying to ruin an innocent child's life, then stooped swiftly to snatch it back up again. She made to stuff it rudely and rather inelegantly back into Mr. Bennett's bag when she spied something else inside.

Something round, clear, and perfectly polished.

With another sharp glance at Mr. Bennett, Barb reached into the bag with her scroll-free hand and grabbed hold of the strange round item.

"What's this?" she deadpanned, holding the thing aloft. "Another part of your ridiculous ruse?"

Still not a word from Mr. Bennett.

Huffing with impatience, Barb noted the time from the large clock above the classroom door and declared suddenly, "You have until the end of the week to come clean about this, Mr. Jamie Bennett, or I _will_ file a report. Trespassing and breaking and entering are crimes that will get you _and_ your sister fired, even if I can't get you on harassment or mental and emotional child abuse."

She stuffed both the polished ball and the scroll into her oversized purse, which hung over the crook of one elbow.

"Evidence," she announced. "Just in case you get any funny ideas. I'm sure your fingerprints are all over it."

Then she spun on her heel and marched out the door.

* * *

As soon as track practice was over, Cassandra heard Coach Sophie calling her name. She trudged over the to the young blonde, whose expression was impassive but whose eyes held just the slightest hint of worry.

"I'm sorry if I scared you last night," she said as soon as the other girls were out of earshot. "I really don't have a clue what came over me. I made an appointment to go get some tests done; I think I might be having blackouts or something."

"I wasn't scared," Cassandra replied honestly.

Coach Sophie dug a hand through her wind-blown blonde hair, looking a bit uncomfortable but sounding completely sincere. "Anyway, I'm really, _really_ sorry. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you or your guardian, please let me know."

"No, I think we're good."

Her relief was evident. "That's good to know." She reached out and patted the girl on the shoulder. "By the way, you're doing really well. You didn't hear this from me, but I know the Junior Varsity coach is already looking into your scores for the high jump. Seems he wants to snatch you up as soon as you're old enough, but that's not until eighth-grade. School rules and all of that."

Cassandra nodded but didn't respond. She was never really interested in track to begin with; she'd only gotten into it to get out of her dad's house and because Barb had insisted. Now that she was looking at becoming a spirit in just a couple more days, it seemed like an even bigger waste of time, one which she found herself caring less and less about.

"Later," the coach said amicably, and strode away with her things…only to trip a few seconds later over some unknown obstacle hidden in the grass. Coach Sophie dropped both her clipboard and whistle as she flailed her arms to keep from falling, a curse catching sharply halfway past her lips.

A group of boys passing by oohed and laughed.

"Bad words, coach!" one yelled good-naturedly.

"Our little ears!" another called with a grin.

"Yeah, yeah," Coach Sophie hollered back, shooing them away with the hand that had three broken fingers. "I know you've heard _way_ worse from your brother, Jeremy, don't even deny it!"

They all had a good laugh as Cassandra walked away, head bowed and mind already buried into far more important matters than whether or not a teacher ought to swear around middle-schoolers.

* * *

When Barb got home from work the front door was still locked. Normally this would worry her, but thanks to the meeting running smoother than usual she'd actually gotten home a bit early. Cassandra must still be at track practice.

 _I could've picked her up,_ she realized, glancing at her watch. _Well, too late now._

She reached into her pocket for her door key, then dug deeper. Cursing under her breath, she reached into every one of her pockets (four in her coat, two in her pants) before wrenching open her purse and digging through its many pouches and zippers. Why in the hell was she always, _always_ losing things? And why the hell did she carry such a big purse when it only meant _more_ room for things to get lost in?

From inside the house she could hear Barney yapping.

"Shut it dog!" she barked irritably, but that only shut him up for about three-quarters of a second. Shaking her head, Barb was spared from having to yell through the door by the fact that she'd finally found her key.

Stuffing everything back into her purse just neatly enough for her to zip it closed again, she stuck the key into the deadbolt lock and made to turn.

…then she paused.

She didn't know what, exactly, prompted her to look, but it had to be the sudden, overwhelmingly _creepy_ feeling of being stared at. Very slowly her eyes and then her face lifted, until she was staring up at the eves of the duplex roof.

Perched up there like some horrid, grotesque Halloween decoration was a winged, legged, impassively staring eyeball.


	20. Memories of the Selected

Author's note:

Welcome back everyone! The wait wasn't too long, yay!

 **BloodBullet:** I actually like it when people ask questions, as it helps me gauge what my readers are thinking. Just don't be disappointed if I don't provide answers, because I'm dedicated to not spoiling anything for anyone. :)

 **Silversun XD:** Yep, definitely creepy.

 **starthedetective:** Your comments always get me, because you always have so much to say and there's so much I want to say back, but can't, so it's like a wonderful torture. Lol. Glad you liked the last two chapters.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Yeah, the Bennetts are not exactly acting subtle right now, but all the characters are going a bit crazy in the story right now because of all the emotions and stress and whatnot. And no, sadly, it's not a joke. Sophie forgot the Guardians.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** No, the watchful eyes can't be seen by just anyone, it's a matter of belief. Barb's being slowly but surely sucked into the drama, and her seeing the eye is just the first bump on the descent. This chapter explains more about what's going on in that department.

 **beccadarlingmusic:** I've been really trying to take my time with this one, but between the excitement of getting the chapter written and my tendency to be hyper self-critical, there's been this weird tug-of-war going on inside my head so it hasn't been easy. Hopefully this chapter (and the next) satisfies.

 **Momochan77:** I'm really happy that people, including you, like Barb so much because she's a huge part of this story (as you can tell). I was a bit worried about that when I first started writing this story since she's an OC, but I'm glad her character's gone over well. :)

Please enjoy everyone! :D

* * *

Barb stared. The grotesque eyeball stared back. Its bat-like wings flexed very subtly, the only indication it gave that it was not a toy or a decoration but very much alive.

After what felt like an age, the blonde woman finally blinked. Then she slowly lowered her gaze to refocus on the key in her hand. With great care she turned it in the lock and let herself into the house. Barney yapped and barked and skittered underfoot, but for once his aggravating existence went completely unnoticed. Feeling oddly numb, Barb moved through the kitchen, down the hall, and into her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and reached back to turn the lock with a soft click.

Once that was done, all strength left her arms and they dropped uselessly to her sides, causing her oversized purse to fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

…holy shit…

There was a small recliner located in the far corner of the room, near her window. Barb somehow made it over there and sat down heavily, only to wind up staring blankly at the wall.

In time she heard the front door open and close. Cassandra was back. The girl's quiet footsteps (Damn, it always amazed her how quietly that girl could move) indicated that she was coming down the hall. She paused outside the locked door and called softly, "Barb?"

In spite of the buzzing emptiness of her shocked brain, a swell of hope and affection warm Barb's heart. The girl showing interest in _anything_ was exceptionally rare, but for her to actually feel concerned about another human being was truly remarkable progress. Such prompted her to answer even though her throat was still feeling incredibly tight.

"I'm here, Cassandra. Do you mind fixing your own dinner? I've got some things…to take care of."

There was the shortest of pauses before Cassandra answered.

"All right."

She left. Instead of heading back to the kitchen, however, she went straight to her room. Barb felt a pang of guilt as she heard the door close, shutting Cassandra inside. God, she should've at least fixed the poor child some dinner. That was the very least she could do, wasn't it? After all the neglect Cassandra had suffered at the hands of her family, even a simple sandwich would mean the world to her while requiring little effort on Barb's part.

The problem was Barb didn't quite trust herself to be around anyone right now, but Cassandra especially. Too many inexplicable things had happened—and _continued_ to happen—around that girl, and quite frankly Barb was starting to wonder about the condition of her own sanity. First there had been the flabbergasting events of last night, which she had tried to explain away simply by deciding that the Bennetts were, for a lack of a kinder phrase, in desperate need of some professional help. Then she'd had that completely one-sided conversation with Mr. Bennett, which had not only left her even more convinced that he was absolutely insane but also provided her with evidence to support that supposition. Now she was seeing weird eyeball monsters on the roof of the duplex, and as much as she wanted to believe that talking to the clearly psychotic Mr. Bennett had caused her tired and overstressed brain to project nonexistent creatures into her physical surroundings, there was simply no explanation as to why her brain would come up with _that_ of all things.

 _Good god the madness is spreading._

At any rate, Barb needed some time alone to put her thoughts in order. Tomorrow, when she was calmer (and hopefully no longer seeing things) she would sit Cassandra down and talk to her about what was going on.

Time passed. Apart from a brief bathroom trip to brush her teeth, Cassandra didn't leave her room the entire evening. Barb felt another sharp pang of guilt. She shouldn't be by herself so much. She deserved to have a loving family, friends who cared about her, people with whom she could relax and have fun or maybe even confide in when things got bad. Such was the very least any child deserved. But Cassandra didn't have anybody, and Barb could only imagine the horrors she'd been through before coming to Burgess for her to put up with _Randy_. The girl hadn't even blinked an eye when the wretched man had shown blatant disinterest in her recent injuries and hospital visit. Barb was very worried about her. Anyone who displayed such apathy was clearly struggling with some deep-seeded mental health issues, but no matter how many times Barb tentatively offered an olive branch on that front the girl either ignored it or refused it outright. Maybe it was denial, maybe Cassandra simply didn't understand how bad her own situation was, psychologically speaking; the other night when she'd suddenly broken down crying, she'd seemed almost as shocked by the tears as Barb. That definitely wasn't normal. Cassandra desperately needed to talk to someone, but Barb knew if she pushed too hard or even _suggested_ an outside professional, the girl would run. She knew because in spite of her many assurances that she planned on having Cassandra stay for the long run, the girl had yet to unpack a single item from her duffel bag.

Now all of this other stuff was going on, and Barb didn't have a clue as to what to do about it. Should she ask questions or leave it alone? Both options carried obvious risks. But was the risk of her running away worth the chance that she'd finally open up and tell Barb what was going on? Hopefully by tomorrow she could come up with a plan to broach the subject.

Barb frowned as she suddenly realized she could hear the murmur of Cassandra's voice. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she saw that it was almost eleven o'clock. Had she really been sitting there, zoned out, for that long? And who the heck was Cassandra talking to? Herself? She didn't have a cell phone or a computer, and Barb's laptop was sitting on her bed exactly where she'd left it before work.

The blonde woman rose from her chair, tip-toed across the room, and pressed her ear against the wall. She couldn't understand a thing, but Cassandra was definitely talking to somebody. She could tell from the inflections of her voice, as if the girl was responding to what another person was saying.

Then all of a sudden, from very close by (as if Cassandra had likewise crossed her bedroom until she and Barb were only separated by a disappointingly thin wall), Barb heard the whispered words, "Give me a second."

She anxiously held her breath, hoping against hope that the girl didn't realize she was listening.

After a few tense moments, Cassandra finally spoke again.

"No, I'm pretty sure she's asleep. It'll be all right as long as it doesn't take too long."

Barb's heart hammered so hard against her ribs, the organ threatened to beat her bones to dust. Someone was _in the room_ with Cassandra! And they were planning to sneak out together! She wanted to bang on the wall and scream indignantly at them, or better yet—march straight over there, kick in the door, and knock some sense into whoever it was trying to lure a young child out of the house in the middle of the night. When she heard the faintest of creaks that signaled the opening of a window, her racing heart leapt into her throat.

Oh hell no!

Dashing to her own bedroom window, Barb yanked back the curtains and made to wrench it open so she could catch the manipulative scumbag in the act. However, what she saw made all rage instantly transform into shock. Her nails dug into the wooden windowsill and her eyes bulged as she spotted what was unmistakably Cassandra, _flying through the air after a tiny little hummingbird._

Shock became denial, and denial quickly shifted into horror as her mind reeled from what she'd just witnessed. She backed away, tripping over her long-forgotten purse and nearly falling to the floor. When she stumbled back and hit the door, she slid down it until she was sitting in a heap, eyes still transfixed upon the exposed windowpanes.

She laughed. Quietly at first, but then louder, her entire body quivering as she was consumed by hysterical giggles.

"I'm insane," she choked between fits. "I've gone completely insane."

From her peripheral vision, something sparkling yellow captured her attention. The giggles ceased instantly as her mouth dropped open. Barb rushed back to the window and stared out into the night, completely transfixed as she watched what appeared to be streams of golden sand meander through Burgess. The lazy tendrils occasionally disappeared through people's windows, and it only took a few moments for Barb to notice something.

 _That's Marcy's house,_ she thought as she studied the house across the street. The third window from the left on the second floor was where the sand had gone. _And that's her baby girl's bedroom…_

Two houses down another sand stream made its way inside, uninhibited by closed windows and activated alarms.

 _That's little Joey Bernard's room._

She pinched herself just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. It hurt, but when she peered through the window again the amazing sight was still there. The part of her that clung desperately to the idea of blissful ignorance wanted to reject the very notion that this was in any way real, yet larger and far more logical portion of her brain understood that this couldn't be a coincidence. Imagining eyeball monsters was one thing, but this… _this_ …and to see it so soon after witnessing Cassandra fly off as if she were some sort of witch or magician or something… There was no way she was _that_ crazy.

But how? _How_ was it real?!

Barb reluctantly turned from the window to fix her gaze upon her purse. She went straight to the forsaken bag and dug around inside the massive main pocket for the scroll and glass ball she'd taken from Mr. Bennett. With one item clutched in each hand, she studied the document carefully, focusing in particular on the strange names printed there.

 _E. Aster Bunnymund_

 _Jack Frost_

 _Nicholas St. North_

 _Toothiana_

 _Sandman_

…Sandman?

Barb turned back to the window with wide eyes. It couldn't be! She remembered Sophie Bennett blurting out some ridiculous thing about spirits before the young woman inexplicably lost her memory, but that was just stupid. Barb wasn't superstitious, she didn't believe in spirits or ghosts or any of that nonsense. Besides Sandman was a fictitious being, a creature of fairytales and bedtime stories. He didn't really exist, not in any form.

But then how the hell was this sand voodoo happening?!

Immensely frustrated and confused, she snapped in fierce undertones, "They were talking about the Easter Bunny for fuck's sake!"

A faint tinkling filled her ears, causing her to glance down at the glass ball in her hand. When she saw that the inside had changed from clear liquid to an image of some dyed eggs on a bed of grass, her reflexes kicked in, causing her to drop it unintentionally with a stifled shriek. Reacting swiftly, almost by instinct alone, Barb tried to rectify the mistake by catching it. The orb just grazed her fingertips before dropping like a rock to the floor. With a tinkling crash, it shattered, but instead of breaking into millions of tiny shards there was a whoosh of wind, a swirl of blinding color, and just like that Barb was left vigorously shaking her head and blinking her eyes in an attempt to dispel the sight of what was unmistakably a magic portal _in her bedroom_.

What the actual fuck?

Peering into the shimmering portal, Barb could barely make out some strange, unfamiliar scenery on the other side. Even though every instinct was screaming at her not to do it, curiosity and concern for Cassandra got the better of her. What if the place the girl had disappeared to was located on the other side? It didn't matter that Barb didn't have a clue what was going on right now, she simply couldn't leave Cassandra to deal with this on her own any longer.

Drawing a deep breath, Barb squared her shoulders, planted a resolute look upon her face, and stepped forward into the waiting kaleidoscope.

It was like being flung by a slingshot. She was sucked into the light before she could even yelp, and next thing she knew she was staggering out onto the other side, still very much alive and whole if exceptionally queasy and weak-kneed.

 _I really am an idiot._

After taking a short time to recover from the nauseating experience, Barb realized she was standing on green grass. She lifted her head and her mouth dropped open. Wherever she was, it was _beautiful._ Acres upon acres of soft grass crisscrossed by smooth dirt paths, lush trees growing atop rolling hills, elegantly yet mysteriously carved rocks dotting nearly every corner of the landscape, many of which were overgrown with patches of moss, and tunnels of every shape and size that led to who knows where. It was all so marvelous, so _breathtaking,_ that it took every last ounce of Barb's willpower not to dash through the place in order to explore every glorious inch. She stood there gaping instead, utterly transfixed with awe.

Until a heavily accented voice, spoken from somewhere behind her, startled her from her thoughts.

"…oh crikey…"

* * *

Cassandra felt incredibly leery about leaving the duplex when Barb was acting so strange, but with the time constraints Issitoq had put on her she didn't really have a choice. Despite all odds (and an apparent feud brewing between the Guardians), the Tooth Fairy had agreed to meet with her, and at this point Cassandra simply couldn't risk the mercurial spirit changing her mind. She was lucky the fairy had listened to the dream weaver at all. So even though she found it incredibly weird that Barb had shut herself in her room, Cassandra chalked it up to the woman being overworked thanks to a useless assistant and confused by what had happened with Coach Sophie. The latter was probably the brunt of the problem, though, considering how hard it had been for the normally strong and vocal woman to talk to her; she'd practically choked on telling her to fix her own dinner.

Sooner or later, Cassandra knew Barb would pluck up the courage to start asking questions, and she didn't have a damned clue what she was going to say when that happened.

Maybe she'd get lucky and the rite would end before then.

Cassandra stifled self-deprecating laughter. That was the easy way out, the coward's way out. Leaving without _something_ of an explanation would hurt Barb tremendously, Cassandra knew that, and in spite of everything she just couldn't bring herself to do that to her. She didn't know why, exactly, as there was a significant part of her that _still_ insisted she resist becoming too attached to the woman, but it was already too late.

 _This is why I shouldn't have gotten involved with her in the first place,_ she thought as she flew through the sky after the hummingbird-sized fairy that served as her guide tonight. She frowned slightly, confused as to why the all-too-familiar mental scolding no longer carried the anger and frustration it used to. Even in her head the words now sounded weak and weary. Was she giving up? Was she finally giving in to Barb's influence?

Or did she just not care anymore because Barb wouldn't be part of her life much longer?

Cassandra was saved from having to actually answer those questions by the sudden realization that they were heading into the mountains. She and the fairy had already crossed oceans and continents, and now it appeared as if they were aiming for that steadily looming pillar of rock. (She couldn't help but twist her face a little at the sight of it. The Tooth Fairy's realm was a giant rock?) As they drew nearer and nearer to it they were soon surrounded by tiny fairies, the strange little spirits zooming in all directions as they carried out their duties. Some approached the pillar of rock bearing pearly white teeth, while others left it behind with silver coins clutched in their delicate hands. A few glanced curiously at Cassandra, but none stopped to bother them. It was just as well—Cassandra hated having others see her fly. After years and years of trying to keep her powers a secret, it still made her deeply uncomfortable to use them around others, not to mention being a human with magic made her a freak so she despised being stared at for any given reason.

Her fairy guide led her into the oddly-shaped mountain, and that was when Cassandra had to school her expression lest her shock become apparent on her face.

In spite of how utterly ridiculous the Tooth Fairy herself was, her realm was nothing short of astounding. Built inside the mountain was an enormous, open-air palace, complete with golden pillars and spectacular mosaics built from a splendid array of color. Pinks and gold and purples, soft blues and even a bit of resplendent green. It was a sight to behold, that was for sure, and a far, _far_ cry from the sorry shambles that Pitch Black called a realm.

 _She has belief while Pitch doesn't,_ Cassandra reminded herself. _And she's not being controlled by anyone either._

She followed her guide down onto a nearby the fairy then flittered off (presumably to find her queen), Cassandra used the brief delay to continue studying her surroundings. Although she found herself rather liking the view, the endless humming of many thousands of wings grated on her sensitive ears, significantly decreasing her overall enjoyment.

It wasn't long before she overheard the Tooth Fairy's approach.

"San Diego, sector two, bicuspid! Omaha, sector nine, double molars! Oh, oh! Rio de Janeiro, sector six, _three_ lateral incisors and _two_ central incisors! Triplets! Triplets on that last one!"

Cassandra shook her head as she turned to watch the fairy queen descend towards her. Really, how could anyone understand her when she talked like that? That last order had sprung from her tongue so rapidly it was practically a tongue-twister.

"Hello!" Tooth Fairy called amicably as she hovered in front of Cassandra. "I hear you have some questions for me."

She looked well enough, considering the supposed turmoil going on right now, but Cassandra could see the definite hint of anxiety both in the fairy's amethyst eyes and in the way she held her hands clutched to her feathered chest.

"Yes," she said. "The first being why you agreed to see me. I thought you and the others were fighting."

The fairy winced. Apparently Cassandra had hit the nail right on the head.

"Well…well you see…" she stammered before emitting a nervous laugh. "You see, Cassandra, we Guardians _are_ in a bit of a…spot. But don't worry!" She beamed down at the girl. "It'll work out I'm sure, once North stops being such a bossy know-it-all."

That last part had been added under the fairy's breath and Cassandra was certain she wouldn't have heard it at all if she didn't possess spectacular hearing.

 _So they really are fighting? How peculiar._

The fairy's smile was back in full force. "Anyway, enough about them. Sure I was a bit irritated when Sandy came barging in here, but it wouldn't be fair of me to allow personal issues dictate how the two of _us_ interact, right? I mean, this _is_ about the rite, isn't it?"

"Sort of. I need to know how the memory magic works."

"Oh, that's easy! The memories of childhood are stored inside the teeth, which we then collect for safekeeping. We can activate those memories to help the children remember things that are important to them, usually when they're in a very bad spot emotionally."

"Does the conduit have to be teeth, or can you use something else?"

The Tooth Fairy frowned a bit as she thought.

"You know," she admitted after a moment, "I've never thought of trying to use it on anything else. But then again I've never really had the need to. Teeth are readily available and it's not like the kids will miss them all too much once they fall out, unlike how they might feel if other things go missing."

"So is it possible?"

"I honestly can't say. But even if _I_ can't do it, it doesn't necessarily mean you won't be able to either. You can fly like Jack—" (Was that a faint catch in her voice?) "—but you don't know anything about Wind or hear from him, so that means your powers aren't _exactly_ like ours." She shrugged. "I guess we won't really know until we try."

She reached down to her waist and plucked a feather, which she then handed to a somewhat startled Cassandra.

"Reach deep," she instructed as Cassandra took the proffered plumage. "You once said you couldn't help but collect things, right? That's an instinct tied directly to your magic. Reach for that, _feel_ it again, and draw that power to the surface. Concentrate on the object in your hand, and if the memories are there, you'll be able to sense them."

Such was easier said than done. Out of all her magical powers, this was the one Cassandra had always felt the least connected to. As a child she'd been constantly tormented by the need to hoard things, mostly things that didn't belong to her, and being caught in the middle of sating such humiliating urges hadn't warmed her to the so-called "gift" in the slightest. Her mother's discovery of her hidden tooth collection had only made the entire experience even more horrible. As a result, Cassandra had spent years and years fiercely and vehemently smothering the power, with varying degrees of success, until it eventually faded away. Now she had to dig _deep_ inside of herself, clawing the long-buried magic back to the surface so she could direct it to the feather in her hand.

…nothing. She could feel the memory magic bubbling away inside of her, meaning it was still present (albeit very, very weak), but she just couldn't sense anything from the feather at all. The hand holding it dropped to her side as she huffed in frustration.

The Tooth Fairy smiled a placating smile. "It's all right, Cassandra. Even if such a thing were possible, I expect it would take years of practice to perfect the skill."

"But I need it!" she growled, glaring down at the feather accusingly. "I don't have time to practice!"

"Are you trying to touch the memories of those involved in the rite?"

Cassandra's head snapped up in an instant. The Tooth Fairy, obviously realizing she'd just thrust herself into a very sensitive topic, spoke carefully.

"I can help you a little in that regard. I may not have teeth from Bunnymund or Sandman, or even myself…but I do have Jack's from when he was a boy."

"Isn't he a boy now?"

Amusement warmed her eyes. "Hardly. He may not look it, but he's more than three hundred years old!" She adopted a more serious expression as she continued, "Jack was a human being before he became a spirit. When he died he was chosen by Manny to become a spirit, and eventually a Guardian. While they may not tell you anything about his spirit life, his teeth will certainly help you understand more about Jack as a person."

"About why he was chosen, you mean."

A nod confirmed her supposition. So basically the fairy wanted her to judge Frost's character… Cassandra supposed she couldn't argue with that. Although she still hadn't decided who she was going to pick, Frost was clearly one of the more prominent choices, so learning more about him probably wouldn't hurt.

However, Jack Frost wasn't the one she really wanted to learn about. That honor, such as it was, was reserved for Pitch Black.

Much to her surprise, the Tooth Fairy broached the subject of the Nightmare King first.

"I also have…" She hesitated while Cassandra looked at her questioningly. Glancing around as if afraid the wrong set of ears might overhear, the fairy fluttered a bit closer in order to whisper, "I also have one of Pitch's teeth."

Dark eyebrows shot up at once. "Really?"

Thankfully her surprise covered her eagerness, so the fairy didn't react with suspicion. Instead Tooth Fairy waved her hands frantically through the air as she declared, "It's not what you think! I didn't steal it! I sort of…" She laughed nervously as she fidgeted with her hands, drumming the tips of her fingers together. "I sort of…um…punched him after that mess in Burgess."

"You _punched_ Pitch Black?"

She huffed, "He kidnapped my fairies! And I gave him a quarter so it technically wasn't stealing."

Cassandra stared at her, disbelief plainly etched upon every feature of her face.

"What? You think I can swing a sword but not throw a punch?" She shook her head, muttering exasperatedly, "Why does everyone always think I'm the weakest link? It's the wings, isn't it? Or is it the color of my feathers?"

As Tooth Fairy continued to grumble to herself, Cassandra's expression darkened. Under any other circumstances, she supposed the image of the thin-armed, delicate-winged spirit punching the Nightmare King in the face would've been highly amusing. But Cassandra _knew_ Pitch, including how very prideful he was, so she understood just how devastating and humiliating something like that must've been for him. And to actually be given a _quarter_ for his pain wasn't just rubbing salt in the wound, it was dousing him in it and then grinding his snubbed nose into the mess. How could the Guardians not see what they were doing to him? How could they feel justified in treating _anyone_ that way, let alone be proud of what they'd done, as if their actions were commendable? Between the Guardians and the spirit controlling him the so-called Boogeyman was quite literally being beaten into submission, both physically and emotionally, and that was as sickening to Cassandra as it was infuriating.

And she didn't even like Pitch all that much.

Upon catching sight of what must've been a truly deadly look on Cassandra's face, the Tooth Fairy shut up mid-ramble. With a nervous chuckle the spirit stammered, "A-anyway, let's get started. We can do Jack's first, see how you fare, and then we can do Pitch's if you're feeling up to it."

"Are you even allowed to share memories with other people? Isn't there some sort rule about privacy, or do you just throw memories around like cheap drinks?"

"Of course not!" the fairy snapped indignantly. She drew herself up, wings humming angrily as she glared down at the human girl standing before her. "I never share memories with people to whom they do not belong! But this is an extenuating circumstance. You deserve to know what's going on, and it's not like we can waste time running around asking for permission, is it?"

She winced as she realized what she'd just said. Her posture wilting significantly, she murmured, "I'm sorry, Cassandra. I didn't mean to imply—"

"It's fine."

Really, it was. When it came to the Tooth Fairy's opinion of the rite and Cassandra's place in it, the girl honestly couldn't care less.

The Tooth Fairy accepted her swift dismissal of the unintended insult, although her voice remained slow and quiet after that. "You have my permission to see these memories, Cassandra. If this decision is deemed unjust by either Manny or Issitoq, then so be it. I have already been deemed unfit enough to be selected for the rite, so I'm not in any position to deny you what you need, no matter the personal consequences."

Cassandra stared at the fairy in silence, studying the spirit's thin-lipped expression and solemn eyes. Tooth Fairy wasn't trying to act like a martyr to gain favor or sympathy; she genuinely believed that this was the right thing to do and was fully prepared to accept the consequences should that belief be proven false.

In spite of her persistent dislike for the winged spirit, Cassandra felt her respect for the fairy grow just a little bit.

Any response she would've made to that speech was cut short by the arrival of a pair of tiny fairies, who bore between them a polished golden cylinder.

"Thank you girls," the Tooth Fairy acknowledged as she accepted it from them. They twittered and flew off. She then held the object out for Cassandra to take.

Cassandra did so, examining what she assumed to be a protective case for safekeeping children's teeth. It was only gold on one side, she discovered, for the top was flat and intricately decorated. There was even a likeness of a brown-haired boy on the front. Young Jack Frost was goofy-looking to say the least.

Just as she had been instructed to do with the feather, Cassandra called forth her memory magic. Only this time there was a response. The tiny bone conduits called to her with a voice only her deepest senses could hear, resulting in an unexpected surge of power. It was unlike any she'd felt as a very young child, for her collections had never spoken _to_ her, only filled her with the undeniable need to keep them safe.

Unable and unwilling to deny the summons, Cassandra reached out with one hand and touched the front of the case.

 _Jack Frost was human. He was still long and lanky, but his hair was brown…and he had a sister. Cassandra hadn't known about that. His sister was younger than him, and really quite bossy, always telling him to be careful and to stop playing tricks. Not that Cassandra could blame her. The human Jack Frost was exactly like his spiritual self: blithe and mischievous and very much a clown who wanted to be the center of attention all the time._

 _But then he died. Cassandra watched as he scooped his sister to safety, only to fall through the ice into the pond…the very same pond that was located just outside Burgess. (So the spirit_ was _American and the small town really was his home. How peculiar.) As he died, Jack gazed up through ice-cold water towards the shimmering full winter moon, until everything suddenly began to glow and all the pain he felt from drowning began to fade away…_

The memories ended. Her consciousness now firmly back in the present, Cassandra eyed the cylinder thoughtfully as she returned it to the Tooth Fairy.

"So?" the winged spirit inquired, looking oddly anxious for some reason.

She shrugged. "It was all right." Then she noted, "Frost hasn't changed much."

That comment earned her a wide grin. "No, no he hasn't."

The smile faded as the fairy glanced down at her left hand, the hand that wasn't holding Frost's tooth case. Cassandra followed her gaze and realized Tooth Fairy was holding another case, only this one was made of plain, unadorned brass. It was also perfectly cylindrical, unlike Frost's, which had a flat top.

Clearly it had been designed with the intent of never being reopened.

Tooth Fairy extended her arm to offer the case to Cassandra. The girl reached out to accept it, but for a long moment the fairy wouldn't let go. Cassandra looked at her questioningly.

"I don't regret keeping this," Tooth Fairy murmured sadly. "But I've never activated the memories inside. It just didn't seem…right."

Picking up on some unnamed emotion in the fairy's voice, Cassandra surmised, "Were you scared?"

Amethyst eyes lifted to stare deeply into brown ones. "I was, and I still am. I am not ashamed to admit it. I was created with the purpose of bringing memory and light to innocent children; I have no desire to tread into the thoughts of foul spirits like Pitch Black."

With Frost's tooth case safely tucked under her arm, one small hand reached out to gently but firmly clasp Cassandra's shoulder.

"You are much braver than I, Cassandra. Considering I am hundreds of years old, and a spirit, that's saying rather a lot."

She finally released Pitch's tooth case then fluttered back a short distance, giving the girl her space.

Before activating the memories, Cassandra dug into her pocket for her iPod. Upon checking the time, she realized just how late it already was. She'd have to go back soon. With Barb on edge after what had happened with the Bennetts, and with no magical safeguards in place to ensure she remained asleep until her return, Cassandra wanted to be back absolutely no later than three a.m. That way if the woman woke up and decided to check up on her for whatever reason, she wouldn't have to fumble for some pathetic excuse to explain her absence.

Unfortunately, there was still the long flight back, and considering how much older Pitch was than Frost there was simply no telling how long it would take for Cassandra to sort through his memories to discover what she needed.

Regarding the case in her hand, Cassandra asked, "Does time pass differently depending on how many memories are stored inside the teeth?"

The fairy reported, "It's not how many memories are inside, but how many you need to see."

"What if I don't know how many?"

"Well…" Tooth Fairy looked thoughtful. "Usually it only takes a few minutes, but that's because they're children so the memories are quite new and easy to sift through. Also when we need to remind the children of something important that they've forgotten, we usually focus on a specific event or place or person. With you, though, you have no clear idea of what you're looking for, and considering just how old Pitch was before he lost that tooth…" She shrugged. "I honestly can't say how long it will take."

If that was the case, then Cassandra didn't really have a choice, did she? She had no way to judge real time while she was using her memory magic, and she couldn't risk staying out too late with Barb already suspicious, so there was only one option.

"If it takes more than fifteen minutes, will you bring me out of the recollection?"

When the fairy looked exceptionally confused by her request, Cassandra elaborated. "I can't get caught sneaking out of the house. I've already been gone a couple of hours and I still need to make the trip back. So if it starts to take too long will you call me back so I can leave?"

The fairy agreed readily. "Of course. And…" She hesitated before adding, "And if you do end up needing more time, you can always take the case with you and return it to me later. I trust you to keep it safe."

Cassandra didn't have the faintest idea why the fairy was willing to entrust something so important into her care, but she wasn't about to argue. Considering there were thousands of years' worth of memories to sort through, more likely than not this spontaneous arrangement was going to end up being absolutely necessary. It wasn't as if she could sneak out again for a second recollection session, after all.

So instead of questioning the fairy's decision, Cassandra nodded curtly and gathered her magic.

Slipping into Pitch's memories was a vastly different experience from the one she'd faced with Frost's. Entering the boy-spirit's past had been like accepting an amicable if somewhat awkward hug, while Pitch Black's memories lunged out and snatched at her, dragging her deep into darkness before she could properly prepare herself mentally.

 _She could see, through Pitch's eyes_ ( _Why was it that she had seen Frost's memories primarily in the third-person but was viewing the Nightmare King's in the first?),_ _the five Guardians standing over him, looking stern and formidable but, at least in Frost's case, also somewhat amused. It seemed they found the Boogeyman's present position on his back entertaining. Pitch was scared, terrified even, but what was even more shocking than that was the fact that he wasn't scared of_ them. _What he was truly afraid of was what was yet to come, what he was doomed to face in the light of this epic failure…_

 _She witnessed the failure in question: Burgess. His plan to regain power twenty years ago had been grandiose indeed, and it had worked spectacularly for quite some time. But then he grew too cocky, too confident, and far too reliant on the belief that he could sway Jack Frost to his side. Through Pitch's eyes, Cassandra got to see first-hand how the two had met in Antarctica, how they had fought briefly yet fiercely before Pitch began to spew the most bizarre monologue she had ever heard. The words he uttered, the expressions that contorted his dark gray face…it was simply mind-boggling. But strangest of all was how he, Pitch Black, the pathological liar and expert manipulator, actually_ meant _every single word he said. He wanted,_ needed _Frost to listen, to hear him, to_ **understand.**

 _But he didn't. Pitch Black, the bold and arrogant Nightmare King, laid himself completely bare in front of Jack Frost, and the boy merely turned his back with a childish sneer. In the swiftest of moments the Boogeyman's emphatic pleas transformed into disbelief, and then pain, before finally reverting back to the one thing he knew he could always rely on for strength: bitter fury._

 _If Frost would not listen, then he did not need the wretched boy. He would break him down into nothing and leave him to wallow in his pain and misery._

 **Then he will understand.**

 _Understand what? Cassandra did not know, but she knew she needed to find out. She reached deeper into the memories, going back a few more years…_

" _Give me another chance."_

" **Why should I, wretch?** "

 _That voice! Its sudden appearance stunned Cassandra just as much as the shocking familiarity of it did._

" _Give me a chance to defeat them. Let me do it on my own."_

 _The short bark of laughter elicited by that statement was as harsh and mocking as it was brief._

" **You failed to stop them with all of my power aiding you and centuries of fear coursing through your veins. What makes you think you can possibly do it now, alone, weak and worthless and forgotten?** "

 _A sharp pang of anguish knifed through Pitch's chest, and Cassandra felt it as if it were her own. The monster chuckled vilely as if it, too, knew of the misery Pitch's defeat still wrought him, even after all those centuries._

 _Still, the Nightmare King would not relent. He thrust the despair aside as he calmly reasoned, "A direct assault did not stop the Guardians last time. Subtlety is needed, and we both know that is not your greatest strength."_

" **Careful, little spirit,** " _the creature warned, sensing an insult in Pitch's words when clearly none was meant. If anything, the Nightmare King had gone out of his way to word himself carefully so as to_ avoid _unintentionally causing insult._

" _I know I can destroy them," Pitch insisted. "Let me do it. Let me prove to you that I can do it, and we can both reap the benefits of their demise!"_

 _The monster (which Cassandra, through Pitch's eyes, couldn't see anywhere for some reason), thought about it for a long, tense moment._

 _Then:_

" **Very well, Nightmare King.** " _The way it pronounced the title was immensely deprecating, as if the unseen monster found the label ironic because it believed Pitch did not deserve it in the slightest._ " **I will let you have your way, just this once. But when you fail,** " it added in a cruel purr, " **know that my fury will be boundless.** "

 _Pitch Black, the bold and wicked Nightmare King, actually flinched. But he was also elated. Cassandra could feel the hope surging through him, washing over his drained and anguished existence like a gush of cold water over parched earth._

 _Cassandra continued to backtrack, skimming through centuries upon centuries of darkness and terror and loneliness and…pain? There was so much pain, so much terror, and it didn't all stem from Pitch's victims, although there were plenty of them. In fact, much of it emanated from the Nightmare King himself. Why? Why was he so afraid? What did he have to fear from this wretched beast that made him submit to it?_

" **You** **stupid** _,_ **pathetic waste**! **How could you lose to such preposterous spirits?! They aren't even a decade old and you let them squander our every effort!** "

" _I only did what you told me to do! It's not as if you gave me any choice!"_

 _As the words flowed from Pitch's mouth, Cassandra could feel his hurt, his rage, his frustration and humiliation and utter helplessness._

 _But most of all, she felt his despair._

" **Do not speak to me that way! Everything you are is because of ME! Without me, you would not even have a name!** "

… _what?_

" **Centuries wasted! CENTURIES! DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!** "

" _Of course I do! I am not an imbecile! I was there too you know!"_

" **SILENCE!** "

 _Pain lanced through Pitch, through Cassandra, effectively silencing him._

" **I should never have agreed to this! I should have found a spirit actually WORTHY of my help!** "

 _The newly vanquished Nightmare King remained silent as the beast continued to rage._

" **I have destroyed legions! Do you hear me?! LEGIONS! I have walked this world for MILLENIA, and now I am forced to crawl on my belly like a dog before a RABBIT and a FAT MAN IN BOOTS**!

" **LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE REDUCED ME TO! WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME AFTER EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE FOR YOU**?!"

 _None of it made any sense at all. Cassandra knew she would have to look deeper still._

 _She saw, through Pitch's eyes, the epic battle between the Nightmare King and the newfound Guardians. Pitch failed to secure victory, as she already knew he would, and as he fled from Europe, the four Guardians hot on his tail, a cyclone of raw emotion churned inside of him. Utter disbelief, hatred and frustration and fury, as well as a bone-chilling panic and gut-wrenching terror that permeated every fiber of his being._

 _He knew. Pitch knew, just as he would know when he lost centuries later to the Guardians in Burgess, what the consequences of his spectacular failure would be_.

Before she could seek out any new information from even older memories, Cassandra's connection to the conduit was disturbed. With a jolt, Cassandra was abruptly brought back to the present. She glared at the Tooth Fairy, whose face was now mere inches from hers.

"I'm sorry," the spirit said, withdrawing her hand and backing up a little, "but it's time."

Her voice was far more aggravating to Cassandra than it probably should've been. Stiff and wary, she nodded her understanding, clutching the tooth case tightly (almost protectively) to her chest. It was a good thing the fairy had already promised she could take it, otherwise there would've been a fight. Now that she'd had a glimpse of what lay inside the Nightmare King's past, Cassandra was _not_ about to part with his tooth, not until she knew exactly what was happening to him and how she could help.

 _I need to see the rest. I_ need _to know what started all of this!_

Looking a bit uncomfortable for some reason (although Cassandra supposed it was the exceptionally cold look she now wore on her face that was putting the fairy off), Tooth Fairy asked, "Do you want Baby Tooth to take you home?"

"I can manage," she replied honestly, if rather coolly. Yet she had to wonder: Baby Tooth? Was that the name of the little fairy that had escorted her to the Tooth Fairy's realm?

With a weary smile, the winged spirit bid her farewell with a murmured, "Be safe," before flying off to attend to her duties for the rest of the night. Cassandra too took to the air, putting the so-called Tooth Palace far behind her in a matter of minutes.

The flight home was uneventful, and Cassandra spent the majority of it mulling over what she'd learned. It wasn't much, yet it was substantial. For one thing, she knew now why Pitch Black hated Frost so much. He had turned to the boy in the hopes that they, as kindred spirits in their loneliness and constant rejection and feelings of insignificance, could come to some sort of understanding. Yet he had been ruthlessly rejected. Although she was no longer bound to the past, Cassandra remembered just how deeply Frost's reaction had cut Pitch. As someone who always guarded her emotions in order to avoid being hurt, Cassandra understood the Nightmare King's devastation and infuriation at having poured out his soul only to have it stomped into the snow.

But there had been something else present during that exchange that was completely foreign to her, and that was Pitch's desperation, his _need_ to make Frost **understand**.

 _Was Pitch…asking for help? Did Frost inadvertently turn him down?_

It had been an extremely roundabout way to ask, that was for sure. But considering Pitch Black normally detested appearing weak and very rarely displayed any open emotion apart from cockiness and anger, it was clear to Cassandra that much of what he'd expressed in Antarctica had carried a double meaning:

"' _They never really believed in you. I was just trying to show you that. But I understand.'"_

"' _All those years in the shadows I thought: no one else knows what this feels like. But now I see I was wrong.'"_

The wordplay was a truly stupendous example of calculative brilliance and ingenuity, but one which ultimately failed in its purpose. Cassandra's jaw clenched as she flew over the Atlantic. The calm water shimmering beautifully beneath the moon, but she paid the sight little mind. That entire encounter should've warned Frost that something was amiss, but it hadn't. Just how blind could that wretched boy-spirit be? She was only twelve and it was clear to _her_ just how desperate Pitch had become during that conversation: gesticulations that grew ever more wild and dramatic with each passing second; the way his voice actually squeaked at one point as he excitedly exclaimed "'Yes!'"; how he had seized upon Frost's shock, disbelief, and temporary self-doubt, thrusting all of himself into his attempts to persuade the boy to turn his back on the Guardians once and for all; how he had pushed home again and again the point that they, Jack Frost and Pitch Black, were actually very much the same.

 _He was all but begging_ _you, and you failed to see it. The act meant to deceive the monster controlling him tricked you too._

Cassandra was anxious to see more of the Nightmare King's past. While she knew now that the spirit controlling Pitch was indeed the same one haunting her nightmares, she still didn't have a clue as to what it was or why it was so attached to Pitch. She recalled it vaguely mentioning an agreement, but what did that mean? What sort of agreement, and why had the two of them come to one in the first place?

And, really, if the foul spirit had been _that_ angry over Pitch's loss at the end of the Dark Ages, why hadn't it simply abandoned the arrangement for one more lucrative and satisfying? Clearly something was stopping it from just cutting its losses and moving on, but _what_?

As she approached North America and spotted the distant but brilliant lights of New York City, Cassandra realized that flying when there was no cloud cover was a foolish thing to do. Forget "The City that Never Sleeps", she could always go around it, but even in the quietest of towns there were going to be people out and about no matter the time. There were people who worked night shifts, or were in the midst of travelling, or who loved to party hard, or simply existed as night-owls. She couldn't risk being seen, not now, not when so many other stressful and troublesome things were going on.

She briefly considered taking a tunnel back to the duplex, but decided against it. Tunnels reminded her far too much of the rabbit spirit (whom she wanted to avoid thinking about entirely, thanks to what he did), not to mention the fact that running that great a distance so soon after her concussion was stupid. While she didn't suffer headaches anymore and could probably make it without issue, she didn't want to push her body too far. Passing out in the middle of an underground tunnel would only cause more problems.

Shadows it was then.

As soon as she reached the coast, she touched down and slipped into the darkness. She'd never traveled so far in her disembodied state before, but she strongly believed that she could make it. Her shadow magic had always been one of her more powerful gifts, and she'd had lots of practice with it recently, thanks in no small part to her dad and Carol. Besides, unlike using the tunnels her shadow power utilized very little physical energy, so it wasn't as if she was at risk of aggravating her head injury again.

Now was as good a time as any to see how much her magic had developed.

The end of the journey proceeded better than the start of it had, which was saying something. As much as Cassandra loved to fly, it also felt wonderful to be weightless, bodiless, a true part of the world yet also _above_ it, beyond the boundaries of physics and reality that held so many billions captive. Flying was glorious in its own right, but this… _this_ was true freedom, and she delighted in every single moment of it.

She made it all the way to Burgess without having to stop once, and that was an achievement even she could be proud of. She reemerged in her bedroom, panting lightly and grinning with accomplishment.

But then she froze.

Barb was sitting on her bed, looking right at her, a completely unreadable expression on her face.


	21. Anger and Grief

Author's note:

Welcome all! Thank you very much for the faves and follows, and special thanks to everyone who commented, you guys always make my day. :)

 **Silversun XD** : Yessss, the dramatic music. Feels very necessary at this point.

 **beccadarlingmusic** : Thank you for the compliment, I'm glad to hear you enjoyed it.

 **WinterCrystal1009** : Yeah, in the movie I never really understood why Jack was such a jerk to him. Like, yeah, Pitch is kinda a jerk himself but, come on, the guy was being completely open and honest for _once_ and you act like that. Seriously, how'd you expect him to react? Obviously I'm putting my own twist on that scene for this fic, but still...the same applies. Could've been a bit nicer, Jack. Use your brain.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown** : I wouldn't leave you hanging about Barb's visit, I'm not that mean. And, yeah, the time thing with Pitch's memories... It seemed a bit cliched while I was writing it, to the point where I almost considered rewriting it, but then I thought: well, she _did_ say she couldn't stay out long, and she's literally looking through hundreds and hundreds of years' worth of memories, which you have to admit _would_ take a while. Maybe I was a bit mean to cut it where I did, but hey, can't give away the answers too quickly now can I? Don't want to spoil my own ending. *evil grin*

 **Momochan77** : Read on to see what happened with Barb and Bunnymund. (hehe)

 **starthedetective** : Just from reading your comment I could imagine you freaking out over Barb's little "trip", which made me super happy and amused at the same time. And I'm really glad you picked up the way Cassandra described entering the memories, how it was different for Jack's and Pitch's, because as you pointed out there's an implication there that he wants and needs someone to understand even if he won't/can't come out and actually say it. As for the climax of the story, it's fast approaching but not _that_ fast. There's still quite a bit that has to happen, though I'm not entirely sure at this point how that'll translate into actual chapter numbers. You'll know when we get there, trust me.

Please enjoy!

* * *

The heavily accented voice startled Barb from her awestruck enthrallment. The beauty of the strange place instantly forgotten, she spun sharply, eyes wide and heart hammering, to face whoever it was that had spoken.

At first she didn't see anyone. Then she spotted a tiny, fluffy, gray and white rabbit perched atop a nearby rock. Sitting upright, it stared at her with its ears held erect and nose twitching ever so slightly. Even from the short distance that currently separated them, Barb noticed that its eyes were very, very green.

Was it the one who had spoken? By this point, Barb had played witness to so many outlandish and impossible things she knew better than to rule anything out. So she decided to test the theory.

"Hello," she said awkwardly, lifting one hand in a pathetic excuse of a wave.

Like a rubber band drawn taunt and unexpectedly released, the rabbit dashed away. Barb tore after it, determined not to let it get away.

"Get back here!" she hollered as she ran. Darting between stones and scrambling over grassy hilltops, she yelled between panting breaths, "What are you doing?! Who are you?! Where the hell is Cassandra?!"

The rabbit skidded to a sudden halt. In her own pathetic attempt at an abrupt stop, Barb's feet went out from under her and she crashed into the ground. Spitting dirt from her mouth, she heard a familiar accented voice inquire, "You know Fisher?"

She lifted her head to glare at the anthropomorphic animal. "Of course I do! She lives with me! Now where the hell is she?"

The rabbit fidgeted anxiously. Just as Barb managed to scramble back onto her feet, an icy burst of wind knocked her down again. Flat on her back, she wheezed painfully as yet another voice called, "You okay Bunny?"

"What are you doing out here?" the rabbit hissed. "What if someone sees you?!"

The newcomer was unrepentant. "You think I'm gonna hang back and hide while you're being chased? In case you've forgotten, you're not exactly in a position to defend yourself."

"This is _my_ Warren, _my_ realm," the rabbit retorted. "As long as I'm in it I can take care of myself no matter my size!"

Fighting a conflicting mixture of confusion and wrath, Barb pushed herself up onto shaky arms to gape at the arguing pair. The tiny rabbit was presently glaring up at a scrawny white-haired boy, who wore a dark blue hoodie and pants that were several inches too short. He had no shoes or socks on, and didn't seem one bit bothered by it. Stranger still, for whatever reason, the boy was carrying a long crook-ended stick.

At the moment, neither one of them was paying Barb any mind. But she quickly rectified that.

"The hell is going on here?" she rasped, instantly snapping their attention back to her. "Who are you people?"

The white-haired boy's jaw dropped. "You can see us?"

"Of course she can, you gumby!" the rabbit snapped. "Why do you think she was chasing me, eh?"

"Why wouldn't I be able to see you?" Barb asked, although she was already starting to suspect the answer. "You're standing right there for god's sake."

The boy scratched at his hair, suddenly unable to meet her gaze as an awkward look descended upon his face. "Well, you see…"

"How do you know Fisher?" the rabbit interrupted, glaring at Barb as if she were some sort of criminal. "And where in Manny's name did you get a snow globe?"

" _That's_ how she got in?" the boy said incredulously. He dropped his face into one hand and groaned. "I swear, I'm gonna lose it with him and those things."

Getting to her feet for the second time in just as many minutes, Barb brushed grass and dirt from her hands and glared right back at the rabbit.

"Let's get one thing straight," she said in a commanding tone. "I will not take attitude from the likes of you."

"Now you listen here—" the rabbit began, but Barb cut him off.

"Second of all, I demand to know where Cassandra is. How dare you lure young children out in the middle of the night? You should be ashamed!"

The rabbit, in spite of its detrimental size, refused to be cowed by this woman, who was practically breathing fire in her fury and indignation. He huffed indignantly, " _We_ didn't lure her anywhere. She's off with Tooth, if you must know."

Barb blinked, temporarily silenced by her shock. "Tooth? As in Toothiana?"

They both looked incredibly surprised to hear her say that name.

"You know about her too?" the rabbit asked, but the white-haired boy said nothing. His eyes had become fixed upon the ground.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing.

Barb looked and realized it was the scroll she'd taken from Mr. Bennett. In the wild events of the past few minutes, she'd completely forgotten that she even had the stupid thing. She must've dropped it the first time she fell without even realizing it.

The rabbit looked, too, and at once his anger and confusion transformed into grave concern.

"Where did you get that?"

"I took it from someone," she admitted as the boy used a gentle gust of wind to leap forward and snatch up the scroll.

"Who?" The word positively dripped with suspicion.

"No one worth discussing, to be quite frank."

While this brief exchange took place the white-haired boy did not speak; he was too busy reading the scroll in his hands. Then his eyes suddenly grew very wide and he gasped, "Bunny!"

He flew over to the rabbit, who instantly took the scroll from him. Emerald-colored eyes widened considerably before darting up to Barb.

"Where did you get this?" he asked of her again. The scroll shook visibly in his miniscule paws. Barb had to wonder why he looked almost scared.

"Are they okay?" the white-haired boy asked. He, too, looked extremely upset. "Are Jamie and Sophie okay?"

She didn't bother to mask her surprise. "You know the Bennetts?"

The boy nodded. "Since they were kids."

Barb frowned. "You're just a kid yourself."

"Actually, I'm over three hundred years old."

" _What_?"

The rabbit simply repeated with even more urgency, "Are they okay?"

Barb was rather taken aback by how close to tears he seemed all of a sudden.

"As far as I know," she said hesitantly, unsure as to whether or not she should go into detail about what had happened with Sophie Bennett. Not only was she still unsure as to _what_ , exactly, had happened, but she didn't think it was safe to divulge such information until she completely understood who these two were and what their relationship was with Cassandra.

Sensing his companion's distress, the white-haired boy dropped into a squat to lay a hand on the rabbit's miniscule shoulder. "At least we know now why we couldn't get them before, right?"

The rabbit nodded, though he still looked gloomy. After a while, he set the scroll aside and looked up at Barb again. His eyes were finally clear of anger and suspicion, leaving him with an oddly weary appearance.

"You say you live with Fisher?" he said, referring to what Barb had told him a short time ago.

"Yes."

"I thought she lived with her dad," the boy stated, looking slightly confused by the shifted dynamics.

"Not anymore. I've had her for about a week now, but even before that she used to stay with me all the time." She crossed her arms. "Now you tell me: How do _you_ know Cassandra?"

The boy spirit sighed, "It's a bit complicated."

"Try me."

"I don't even know if we can tell you," the rabbit replied. He kept casting nervous glances around the place, his "realm", as if he feared someone (or something) was about to leap out of hiding at any moment and catch them all in the act.

Unfortunately for him, Barb wasn't in the mood to play around. She retorted, "Listen, in the past twenty-four hours I've heard crazy stories about Easter Bunnies and Nightmare Kings, found a teacher in possession of a supposedly legal document written on a damn _scroll_ like it's the fourteen hundreds or something and a glass ball that opened up an acid-trip of a portal—" The boy sniggered. "—that transported me to this place, seen a gross eyeball monster on my roof, watched a twelve year old child fly through the air like some sort of witch, and now I'm talking to a supposedly three hundred year old boy and a fucking rabbit." She finished on an angry huff, "I think I can handle the rest of the story."

By the end of her angry speech, the two of them were left gaping.

"You saw Issitoq's Eyes?" the boy breathed.

"This is bad," the rabbit muttered, looking even more alarmed and anxious than before, if that were possible. "This ain't supposed to happen. Adults ain't supposed to believe!"

Barb didn't hesitate to point out, "The Bennetts believe, don't they?"

"It's different with them. They're special. And even with them…" He waved at the discarded scroll with one paw. "As you can see, it ain't easy. Spirits and humans ain't supposed to mix like that…or like this!" He gestured between himself and Barb.

"Then why are you lot mixing with Cassandra? If this so complicated, why can't you just leave her alone?"

Both of them winced. The rabbit especially was looking quite guilty, shuffling his feet and running a paw nervously over his ears.

"Wait a minute…" Barb studied the rabbit closely. "Are you supposed to be the Easter Bunny?" When the rabbit (spirit?) nodded, she inquired incredulously, "What happened to being six-foot-one with nerves of steel?"

He chuckled awkwardly while the white-haired boy grinned impishly.

"Heard from Jamie, did you?" he asked of Barb.

"More than I cared to."

"How's he doing? Is he really okay?"

"Like I said…as far as I know." She chose to leave it at that.

After a moment, the white-haired boy finally rose out of his crouch. With a long sigh, he leaned back on one foot, using his staff for balance as he said, "I think we ought to tell her, Bunny."

Completely taken aback by that seemingly simple declaration, the rabbit asked, " _Why_?"

"She obviously knows about the Bennetts, and at least in part about Fisher. Plus she's here, isn't she? She _believes_ in us, Bunny, that's gotta mean something, right? Seeing as how she already knows bits and pieces of everything that's going on, why not just give her the full story?"

"What about Issitoq? What if he finds out?"

"I guarantee you he already knows, otherwise he wouldn't have sent that Eye to watch her. If he hasn't stepped in by now, I doubt he will."

"I dunno…"

"Besides, you know how protective Jamie is over us. For her to get her hands on this scroll _and_ a snow globe, Jamie must've purposefully left them somewhere for her to find. He _wanted_ her to talk to us, even if he couldn't actually come out and say it because of the stipulations in the judgment. He's trying to help us," he concluded. "He's trying to help us help Fisher."

The rabbit spirit sighed heavily. "I suppose you're right," he admitted in a reluctant grumble. "Crikey, this is just so bloody complicated."

While this discussion took place, Barb examined the rabbit even more carefully. Something about the tiny animal spirit was seriously aggravating to her, but she couldn't figure out what that something was or why it bothered her so much. She wracked her brains, trying to remember.

Then it hit her.

 _Six-foot-one, nerves of steel…_

"' _You look like you've_ _been mauled by a weasel or something.'"_

"' _More like a pissed off rabbit.'"_

"YOU!"

Both the rabbit and the boy froze, staring at Barb in shock. Her chest heaved as she glared down at the animal spirit, all-but shouting in her rage, "You were the one who attacked Cassandra!"

Green eyes widened even as the boy spirit whispered, "Uh-oh."

Positively seething, Barb dashed forward. Before either one of the startled spirits could move, she snatched the rabbit up by his ears.

"I ought to throttle you!" she hollered, shaking him as hard as she could. "How _dare_ you lay your filthy paws on her?! How DARE you strike an innocent child?!"

The rabbit hung limp in her grasp, his body flopping pathetically as she shook and shook him. The white-haired boy yelled for her to stop and grabbed at her arms, but in her anger she found strength she didn't know she had. She knocked him aside with a careless but well-placed shove, never taking her eyes off the creature dangling from her fist. Nearly spitting in her fury, she continued to berate him.

"Guardian of Childhood my ass! You're nothing but a low-account coward! I ought to bash your brains out on that rock and turn you into a hat!"

"Woah now!"

The boy spirit (who Barb was fairly certain was Jack Frost) had recovered from the unceremonious treatment and grabbed hold of her arm again. This time he successfully stopped her relentless assault on his companion, gripping her tightly with both hands as he held her gaze with wide, wild blue eyes. With his face so close to hers, Barb could now feel how oddly cold his breath was. It wasn't unpleasantly or uncomfortably cold, just cold, vaguely reminiscent of the gentle albeit icy bite one received from a lick of ice cream.

"This isn't gonna fix anything," he insisted. "Bunny's already being punished, can't you see? And it's not through for him yet, so please don't take anything else out on him. He only did it to protect me."

Barb continued to glare at the rabbit in her fist, but she did not resume shaking. The spirit in question hung there, pathetically curled up and trembling mightily. Enormous green eyes were fixed upon her, betraying a powerful coalescence of shock, fright, pain, guilt, and…acceptance? The acceptance confused her, though it did nothing to quell her anger. Still, it made her wonder: why hadn't the rabbit spirit fought back? There hadn't been even an _attempt_ at escape. Did he think he somehow deserved what she'd just done to him?

"Tell me what happened," Barb growled. "Tell me _exactly_ what happened that night."

After a moment, the rabbit said quietly, "I'll tell you. But we gotta start at the beginning otherwise none of this will make sense."

While they continued to lock gazes, Frost slowly, tentatively, released his death-grip on Barb's arm, although he continued to watch her closely, ready to latch back on again at the first sign of trouble. And in the end, Barb realized violence wasn't going to get her anywhere at this point. As livid as she still was about Cassandra's injuries, if she didn't find out what was going on, and fast, she was going to really lose it.

She opened her fist and unceremoniously dropped the rabbit to the ground. Frost went to him immediately, only to be shooed away.

The rabbit spirit gazed up at Barb with sorrowful eyes as he murmured, "It's a really long story."

She sat down on a nearby rock (coincidentally, the very same one she'd just threatened to bash his head open with), fixed her eyes unblinkingly upon the pair of them, and waited for their preposterous tale to begin.

It started with the rabbit spirit drawing a long breath.

"As you've probably guessed, we're two of the Guardians of Childhood. I'm Bunnymund, more commonly known as the Easter Bunny." He waved at his white-haired companion. "This is Jack Frost. He's the Guardian of Fun. I'm the Guardian of Hope."

Barb snorted.

"I know it ridiculous, what with everything that's happened, but things are a complete mess right now." He drew another breath, let it out again. "Issitoq, the one who created that judgment scroll, is the spirit of justice and law, more commonly known as the Adjudicating Eye. He keeps watch over the world of spirits to make sure we all do our jobs properly."

"So there's more spirits than just you Guardians?"

"Lots more," Frost acknowledged. "Hundreds."

"And I've never seen them before because…what? Belief?"

The rabbit answered, "Human belief is essential. Without it, without the children, none of us would even exist. As they grow up, the ankle biters mature and forget, but that's okay because more children are born every day to replace the ones who lost their belief. So as long as nothing serious happens, the cycle is able to sustain itself." He frowned. "For an adult like you to believe is…highly irregular."

"We thought Jamie and Sophie were the only ones," Frost explained. "No other adult has ever been able to see us. Even the kids who were friends with them when they were young have forgotten."

He glanced at the scroll. "Jamie took a huge risk passing that on to you. Even if you chose to read it, there wasn't a guarantee you'd believe a single word. And if Issitoq had taken issue with what he did…well…you read about what would happen."

"He'd lose his belief."

When the boy nodded, Barb realized: _So that's what happened to Sophie Bennett. She broke the rule by talking to Cassandra about these Guardians, so as punishment that Issitoq spirit made her forget. And Cassandra wouldn't tell Jamie Bennett or me what had happened because she was worried the same thing would happen to us._ She felt incredibly sick. _Good god, these spirits have power over the human_ mind _? That's INSANE!_

Clearing her throat to dispel the growing panic, she inquired of the two spirits, "So this…Pitch Black…he's real too?"

Both of their faces darkened.

"Unfortunately," the rabbit grumbled.

"What's he the spirit of?"

"Fear and shadow."

Remembering from the scroll, she asked, "Is that why he's called the Nightmare King?"

"For the most part, yes. He's also learned to corrupt Sandy's dreams and turn them into literal Nightmares that can take physical shape and fight for him."

"That's horrible."

"It is," the rabbit acknowledged grimly. "That's why we Guardians were created: to stop him from tormenting humanity and to protect the children of Earth."

Barb's throat felt tight. She did _not_ like where this conversation was going. "So…so what's Cassandra got to do with the likes of him? Issitoq lumped the two of them together when he wrote that document." She tried to recall exactly what the scroll had said. "Something about the Bennetts being biased or some such nonsense…"

Frost settled down onto a rock across from Barb. Grim-faced, he said, "Here's the thing: Fisher doesn't believe in spirits."

"But she can see you," Barb pointed out.

"Yeah. That's why we thought it was weird. That and her magic. You've seen it too, right?"

"The flying."

"That's just one of her powers. She got that one from me." Barb opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that, but before she could the boy spirit continued, "She's also got excellent hearing from Bunny here, as well as the ability to make tunnels that can take her wherever she wants to go. From Tooth Fairy, she got this weird protectiveness over things that are important to people. Tooth's the Guardian of Memories, see, so Fisher hoards stuff that symbolizes important times in people's lives. She can also shape dreams just like Sandy can, but apparently the power doesn't work on other people, only herself. Which is kinda weird, but, you know…" He shrugged. "None of her powers are exactly like ours, so I guess it's really not all that surprising when you think about it."

This was just getting better and better. Cassandra could not only fly, she could do all these other amazing and impossible feats too? Just what the hell was going on here?!

Forcing herself to remain calm and rational, Barb posed the next logical question: "What about this Nightmare King? Does she have his powers too?"

"Fisher can quite literally become one with the shadows, moving in and out of them at will," the Easter Bunny explained. "She's also recently developed the ability to shape nightmare sand."

"Nightmare sand?"

"It's corrupted dream sand. Pitch touches the dreams Sandy gives to the children and transforms them into nightmares by tainting the sand itself. When we first met Fisher, she couldn't do that." He stood a little straighter so Barb could see a small, partially-healed wound on his furry chest. "But as you can see, she can now. Pitch taught her how to do it."

Barb felt her heart clench painfully inside her chest. "She's been spending time with him?" Horror clutched her firmly in its grip. "What were you people _thinking_? Why didn't any of you stop her?!"

The rabbit immediately insisted, "We tried to! Believe me, sheila, as soon as we found out about it we _all_ tried to convince her to stop talking to Pitch, but it didn't do any good. He met her before us, you see, and convinced her we weren't to be trusted. Now I admit we didn't make a good first impression on her—" Barb glared at him. "—but nothing we said could get her to understand the danger she was in. We even asked Jamie and Sophie to try and help us, and look at where that got them."

 _That would explain that weird lunch,_ she thought even as she asked, "So why are they being punished? If Issitoq is the spirit of justice and law, why's he okay with a known child tormenter hanging around a twelve-year-old girl?"

For as powerful and revered as Issitoq appeared to be, based upon the spirits' tone and body language whenever they spoke of him, not one thing he'd done so far seemed to have actually _helped_. In fact, from Barb's perspective, his influence had only made everything a whole lot worse for anyone who wasn't the Nightmare King.

To say that her opinion of the so-called Adjudicating Eye was exceptionally low would be the understatement of a lifetime.

Once again, it was the rabbit spirit who explained. Taking a tentative step closer, he said, "That has to do with Fisher and her magic. You see, sheila, Issitoq has initiated an ancient rite called _Mutatis Mutandis._ It's a fail-safe for when something bad happens that Issitoq can't rectify since he's a truly neutral and just spirit."

"Basically, he knows what's wrong but can't fix it like he normally would 'cause it's not technically illegal," Frost clarified when Barb blinked in confusion.

The rabbit nodded once in the boy's direction, acknowledging his input.

"The rite solves that by taking the problem and putting it onto someone else's shoulders," he said. "And that someone is Fisher." Something cold and foreboding touched Barb's heart, but she doesn't interrupt. "Fisher was chosen by Issitoq to arbitrate for the rite. The reason she has magic—our magic—is because we're part of the problem Issitoq wants resolved. It's supposed to help her make her decision."

"How is _magic_ supposed to help her?" Barb asked incredulously. "What is she supposed to do? Act as prosecutor or the morality police or something?"

Both spirits looked grim, although Frost turned away to stare at the ground while the rabbit spirit kept his gaze locked on Barb.

"Fisher's job as the arbiter is to judge our character and determine which of the five of us is the least worthy of continued existence. Once the decision is made, that spirit is replaced."

"Thereby solving the problem…hopefully," Frost added dejectedly without looking up.

"Wait a minute." Barb put a hand to her forehead as her mind reeled. "You're saying…you're saying Cassandra has to pick someone to get punished? To…what? Be dismissed?" When they said nothing, she continued to guess, her tone growing more and more desperate as she hurtled through the very short list of possibilities at record speed. "Demoted? Exiled?" Her breath nearly caught in her throat as a horrible thought occurred to her. "Killed?"

Upon seeing the look in the Easter Bunny's eyes, she leapt to her feet.

"No! No, you can't do that!" she cried. "Cassandra's just a child! A _human_ child! How can you possibly justify forcing her to do something like that?!"

"We don't," Frost stated glumly, his eyes still downcast.

The rabbit spirit echoed his sentiment. "Trust me, sheila, we've _all_ tried to stop this, even Fisher. She doesn't want anything to do with the rite, or with us." He, too, hung his head. "Unfortunately she doesn't have say in it. Nobody does. Once the rite is begun, it must be completed. We're all trapped in it now."

Barb desperately insisted, "But she's just a child!"

"From the stories we've heard, none of the other arbiters were ever this young, so our only guess is that something must've happened to push the timeline along. Issitoq's normally not in this big of a hurry," Frost informed her wearily.

"'Other arbiters?' You mean this horrible thing has happened more than once?!"

"Only a couple of times," the rabbit reported. "You've got to remember: we're spirits. Our idea of a lifespan is vastly different from yours. Issitoq is exceptionally old, even by our standards, possibly the oldest spirit to ever exist. That he's only used the rite a handful of times speaks of how dire a situation must be in order for him to initiate it."

"And there's no other way for him, or you, or _anyone_ to resolve this without resorting to forcing a child to commit murder?"

"We don't even know for sure what needs resolving in the first place," Easter Bunny admitted in a tone that was half weary sigh, half aggravated growl. "Issitoq cannot tell anyone what the issue is 'cause that would affect the impartiality of the rite. It's up to Fisher to figure it out for herself, but—" he continued, interrupting Barb as she opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind about _that_ particular detail, "—best as we can tell, Issitoq's mad 'cause we're constantly fighting with Pitch."

Barb eyed the rabbit coldly. "Then why doesn't Issitoq just kill _him_ and be done with it?" He didn't seem like a very pleasant character anyway. Seriously—a "Nightmare King"? What good was a spirit whose only purpose appeared to be scaring people and tormenting unsuspecting children with nightmares?

"It's not that simple," Frost explained. "Dark spirits are just as important to the balance of the human world as we are. Fear, anger, hate, greed, lust, death, illness, pain, grief… They're all an important part of the human psyche, but the spirits that manage those sentiments have to be kept in check, otherwise humans can be irreparably harmed. Hundreds of years ago, Pitch Black became so powerful he single-handedly controlled almost the entirety of Europe. He spread far more fear than any child or adult could properly deal with, and that shook the very foundation of culture and society at that period of time. The Guardians were then founded in order to stop him and restore light to the world."

"But that's where Issitoq takes issue," Bunny went on. "See, he don't mind us being around to put Pitch in his place, but apparently he _does_ care about where precisely that 'place' is. As best as we can tell, Issitoq disgust lies in the fact that we've done our jobs _too_ well, that in beating Pitch so many times we've essentially tipped the scales too far in the opposite direction. Our guess is that he's hoping Fisher can come in, shake things up, and somehow restore a true balance between our light and Pitch's fear and darkness."

It was the most preposterous thing Barb had ever heard. Killing someone off just because a couple of spirits were fighting? Four of the five involved had been _created_ to fight in the first place! Why not just beat all of their heads together and be done with it? Why involve Cassandra at all?!

"This is insane," she hissed, giving voice to the swirling thoughts inside her head.

The rabbit spirit chuckled humorlessly, "You're telling us."

She _hated_ that he sounded so cocky. She knew he didn't mean to, that he was just exasperated and frustrated and immensely overwhelmed. But the words still carried an arrogant ring in Barb's ears, because no matter what this rabbit spirit was thinking or feeling right now, Cassandra had it a thousand times worse.

Swallowing the unsympathetic and extremely rude words that sprung instantly to her lips, Barb forced herself to ask instead, "So when does Cassandra have to pick? Do you two know about that at least?"

Frost scratched at his snow-white hair and glanced over at his companion, who replied, "A couple more nights."

"A couple? How many is 'a couple', exactly?"

"After tonight…six."

Barb's mouth dropped open, horror etched plainly on every feature of her face. "That's less than a week away!"

"Yeah…" The boy-spirit said, his voice trailing off sadly.

She shook her head, and then shook it again. "I don't believe it," she managed to choke out. "I don't. I can't. How can you do something like this? How can you people do this to her? She's just a child, for god's sake, just a child, and you've given her no time at all…"

The rabbit spirit lowered himself onto all fours before slowly making his way towards her. He stopped at her feet, reaching out to lay one paw comfortingly on her knee as he stared up at her with large, understanding eyes.

"If there was anything we could do to stop this, anything at all, I swear we would've done it."

Barb snorted. "Yeah, so you can save your own ass! You don't give a shit about Cassandra. You tried to kill her for god's sake."

The miniscule nails on his paw dug sharply into her leg as he tensed in the wake of that blunt accusation.

"I didn't try to kill her," he growled. "I never even wanted to hurt her. But Jack…"

He broke off unexpectedly, casting a quick sideways glance at Frost. Was it permission he sought, or forgiveness? It was hard for Barb to tell, especially when Frost's expression in that moment was completely unreadable.

Then the rabbit continued, his voice still tight, "Jack and Pitch were looking to be the most likely candidates, and with Fisher being friendly with the Nightmare King…I just couldn't risk her choosing anyone else. I asked her, _begged_ her, to choose me, but she wouldn't do it." His ears drooped; Barb felt those tiny claws finally retract, leaving nothing but a strangely tingling sensation in their absence. "I haven't been the best to her, I will admit that. From the very first time I met her I treated her with suspicion and anger. Of all the Guardians, I deserved to be picked the most, but she told me right to my face that she wasn't going to pick me _because_ she didn't like me. So I…I tried to force her decision. I broke my oath as a Guardian and attacked her in a pathetic attempt to lessen my own worth to the point where she would have no choice but to pick me."

Through his touch, Barb could feel him trembling.

"I never wanted to hurt her," he admitted very, very softly. "Even though I didn't like her, I never wanted to hurt her. But I did it anyway because I wanted—needed—to protect the others."

He withdrew his paw as he hunched over on the ground, staring down at his feet. He continued in a mumble, "I'm this size because Isstioq is punishing me. No matter my intentions, what I did was shameful. So even if Fisher doesn't choose me for the rite, I'm gonna get what's coming to me. You don't have to worry about that one bit."

Those emerald eyes lifted again to stare deep into Barb's own eyes, which were a distinctly lighter green.

"I know how much Fisher means to you," he said. "You never would've figured out it was me who attacked her unless you paid real close attention, 'cause I know for a bloody fact she hasn't told you one damn thing about any of this. She's in real trouble, that kid, emotionally I mean. She's so quiet and shut-off and suspicious. If she's not angry or cold then she just doesn't care, and that's a terrible state for anyone, least of all someone who's hanging around the Nightmare King. And now that all of _this_ is on her shoulders…she's gonna need you, sheila. Fisher's gonna need you to be there for her when she finally breaks, 'cause it's gonna happen sooner than either of you think."

All at once, Barb was overwhelmed with memories of Cassandra staring at her with empty eyes; Cassandra's emotionless voice as they discussed things that _should've_ been extremely sensitive topics; Cassandra crumbling and crying and fleeing from her, only to reemerge a few hours later with that detestable look of indifference settled firmly upon her features once more.

 _God, these spirits don't even like her and they can see it too…_

She drew a deep breath, and let it out again on a ragged exhalation. It wasn't going to happen. She _refused_ to let it happen. She'd be damned to the deepest, darkest pits of hell before she allowed Cassandra to suffer any more.

In as calm a voice as she could muster, she stated, "I need to go home." She had to get back, had to talk to Cassandra, had to _help_ her with this in any way she could.

The two spirits shared a glance, and Barb didn't fail to pick up on the deep, unspoken concern that passed between them.

"What?" she questioned, sounding more than a little exhausted because, at this point, she really was. "What is it now?"

Surprisingly, it was Frost who answered, although he seemed rather hesitant to do so.

"You can't tell Fisher that you saw me and Bunny together. It's…well…you see…"

"We've got a plan to stop Pitch," the rabbit spirit picked up as Frost's explanation wavered. "It won't save Fisher from the rite, but at this point it's all we can do to keep the Nightmare King from taking over again. And part of it involves us Guardians supposedly fighting amongst ourselves."

Casting his gaze around the nearby vicinity, Frost finally spied the judgment scroll lying in the grass. Lifting up from his rock as if he weighed nothing at all, he scooped it up before floating over to Barb.

"Show her this," he said, handing over the document just as his bare feet touched the ground. "She already knows about Jamie and Sophie being believers, so if you tell her about how you came to have this it will give her enough explanation without your having to lie."

"You can tell her about me too, if you want," the rabbit spirit offered. "You can tell her Jamie gave you a globe and you ended up here on accident. Just don't tell her about Jack."

Barb pointed out, "That's lying by omission."

"If you tell her," Frost said, the gentleness of his tone completely undermined by the firmness of the words, "then it won't matter who she picks. Pitch will win and the Guardians will be destroyed."

The Easter Bunny told her, "With me like this, unable to even leave my Warren, the Guardians are already down by one. If Fisher picks someone other than me, then we'll be down by two. That's what Pitch wants. He's using Fisher and the rite to cut us down so he can finish us off once and for all."

"Does Cassandra know this?"

"She knows she's being used by him," the rabbit confirmed. "But that hasn't stopped her from seeing him. If you mention Jack to her at all, she'll tell Pitch and our plan will be completely ruined."

Barb still didn't like the idea of lying to Cassandra, but she could sense (and _see_ , plain as day in their faces) that they were being sincere and honest about this. And no matter how much she loathed the Easter Bunny for hurting Cassandra, Barb just couldn't stomach even the idea of the Nightmare King walking away from this rite victorious.

She nodded in understanding, although the motion was incredibly stiff.

 _This is the mess I've been thrust into, and Cassandra's been dealing with it all this time, alone…_

Barb stood up so suddenly she nearly knocked the shrunken Easter Bunny over.

"I need to get home," she announced, repeating her earlier declaration with much more conviction.

Frost grinned at her. "That's the spirit!"

She glared at him. "Don't think for a second that I'm through with you. You Guardians are the reason Cassandra's in this mess in the first place, you and that preposterous Nightmare King. Once this is finally over with, I'm going to give the lot of you a piece of my mind!"

As she lectured him, Frost's blue eyes widened and he coughed awkwardly, turning his head away so he could find something fascinating to stare at.

The Easter Bunny just gazed up at her with the same sad expression on his fuzzy face.

"The choice has to be hers and hers alone," he warned Barb. "But do whatever you can. Fisher deserves that."

"That and more," Barb asserted, and the rabbit spirit didn't disagree.

* * *

Frost found a snow globe he'd tucked away ("You know…for emergencies.") and used it to send Barb home. She was glad for that; as much as she detested being flung through a magic portal, she didn't want to waste any more time. Speaking with Cassandra was of the upmost importance.

The trip only took a few moments, but for Barb, who hated every nanosecond, it felt like forever. When she was finally thrown out of the portal, she was just as breathless and nauseous as last time, and had to stagger really quite inelegantly across her bedroom to keep from falling. The disturbance naturally sent Barney into a frenzy, but the blonde was in no mood for his yapping mouth. So she locked the four-legged demon in the bathroom. He scratched and skittered and yelped with all his might, but once she left the immediate vicinity the sounds were muffled enough to no longer be aggravating. Barb simply toned him out after that and went into Cassandra's room.

She wasn't there, of course. Still off with that Tooth Fairy, probably. So Barb sat on the bed to wait.

Nearly three-quarters of an hour later, she appeared. Barb almost had a heart attack when she saw a humanoid shadow loom across the wall, seemingly from nowhere, but she forced herself to remain calm. The shadow that appeared disturbingly horrifying at first, upon second glance, was actually incredibly familiar. And, sure enough, the shadow pulled away from the wall and solidified into Cassandra, who for some strange reason had a satisfied smile on her face.

That smile vanished the very instant she spotted Barb in the room.

For a heartbeat of time, the two simply stared at one another, neither making a sound. Cassandra held a small brass cylinder in one hand, but right now its existence was inconsequential, so Barb ignored it. She blinked, and once the eye contact was broken she looked over the girl's shoulder to study the yellow streams of Sandman's dream-weaving sand, clearly visible through the windowpanes.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured, as much to herself as to Cassandra, who stiffened noticeably. One corner of Barb's mouth quirked into a pathetic ghost of a smile. "I almost wish I'd believed in him sooner."

"You…you can see it?" Cassandra whispered, her voice hoarse with disbelief.

Barb's gaze returned to her. Although the girl's expression was still forcibly blank, almost rigidly so, her brown eyes betrayed the faintest glint of worry.

In a very serious tone, Barb stated plainly, "I met with Mr. Bennett today. He gave me this."

Cassandra took the scroll as soon as Barb held it out for her. She looked it over quickly, brown eyes widening fractionally as she read. Then that startled gaze shot up to fix upon the blonde yet again.

"You—" she began, but Barb cut her off.

"He also had a snow globe." Her voice was still quite calm as she explained, "It took me to the strangest place. A place full of lush trees and fresh grass and beautiful wildflowers. A rabbit was there. A talking rabbit."

It was astounding how swiftly the girl reacted to that. Her defenses were up in full force in an instant, every last trace of discernible emotion effectively erased from both her face and her eyes until she appeared stony and cold, completely untouchable. She stood stock still—waiting, it seemed, for Barb to start tearing into her.

The blonde found herself actually fighting back tears; tears were considered a weakness by Cassandra, the girl would only withdraw even more if she saw them. It was awful to witness such a young child instinctively barricade herself behind an emotionless wall, as if feeling nothing at all would somehow protect her from pain or discomfort or misery. Barb's heart truly went out to her in that moment, so much so she couldn't have quelled the raw sentiment from her words even if she'd wanted to.

"I know what you have to do Cassandra. I don't know the details…but I know what it is you have to do. And I hate it. I _hate_ that they're making you do this."

Uncertainty flickered in the depths of Cassandra's eyes. For just a heartbeat of time, it was there, and then it was gone. Her defenses were wavering, still quite formidable but no longer impenetrable.

Barb spoke again.

"I want to help you, Cassandra. God knows how much I want to spare you this, but I think we both know that I can't. But even if I can't…even if I'm unable to stop it, know that I am here for you. I am here for you, my precious girl, no matter what."

Cassandra blinked. Barb could almost see the thoughts spinning within her mind as she weighed whether or not she should trust her. Cassandra was clearly desperate to believe her words, to accept _some_ sort of comfort and support during this incredibly tumultuous time, yet the poor child's every instinct was crying out against it.

Finally, in a broken whisper, she admitted, "I don't want to do it."

Simple, direct honesty, everything Barb had hoped for and more, because Cassandra was offering it freely. She wanted to smile and cry and laugh all at the same time; somehow, _somehow_ , she managed to keep herself together as she replied with all the sincerity in her heart:

"Oh, sweetheart, I knowyou don't want to."

The protective wall crumbled. Like a strained dam bursting, the emotional floodwaters burst forth and Cassandra's face twisted with helpless despair. Tears streamed openly down her face as she gazed at Barb with a truly hopeless expression, almost as if she were begging… _pleading_ …

Barb said nothing at all, just lifted her arms in silent invitation. And Cassandra fell to her knees before her, burying her face in the blonde's lap to smother her sobs. She dropped the brass cylinder with a hollow clank to clutch at the fabric of Barb's black work pants (dirty now from falling in the rabbit spirit's Warren, twice), anchoring herself as she trembled and shook and completely fell apart.

Barb wrapped her arms comfortingly, protectively around her ward and finally, _finally_ , allowed a few of her own tears to escape. They slipped down her cheeks as she stroked Cassandra's hair, dropping onto her wrist and sticking there, glimmering faintly in the silver light of the moon.


	22. The More You Know

Author's Note:

(Apologies in advance for the length of this note, but in my defense there's a lot to cover.)

First and foremost...OMG! More than 100 reviews! NONE of my stories have reached that milestone before, let alone surpassed it, so thank you _all_ for taking the time to respond and comment! Words cannot explain how stupendously excited I was when I saw it had passed that mark, and I simply cannot convey how grateful I am to every single one of you, my dear readers, even those of you who anonymously stalk me. XD

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown** : I'm so grateful for the praise, and you'll get to see/know more about Pitch in time. It's frustrating, I'm sure, but please be patient as we wander through this quagmire together. ;)

 **Skyress1** : Wow, so many reviews at once! I loved reading every single one of them, and I have _so much_ to say, but let's see if I can condense my responses to just the major questions you had so you're not reading a whole chapter's worth on top of the real chapter. ;) First, when you asked about how I keep describing Pitch as "greasy"...way back in the beginning of the story (chapter one or two I think), Cassandra described Pitch as having the personality of a greasy car salesman: someone who you know by instinct is full of shit, but who could probably sell you a broken refrigerator from the fifties if they put their mind to it. I don't know if this is a common saying in general, or if it's just where I live, but "dirty/greasy as a crooked car salesman" is the phrase/reference I was using there, meaning he's a deceptively smooth talker, not that he himself is physically dirty or greasy (although that hair _is_ a bit questionable, haha). As for the confusion you felt in chapter 20 with Pitch's memories...it's okay. It's not meant to make a whole lot of sense right now. Tooth Fairy described it a bit to Cassandra, and Cassandra and Barb talk about it a little bit more here in this chapter, but the way the memory magic works (at least in my interpretation) is that the memories are usually only activated on a need-by-need basis. Meaning a child has a problem, Tooth or the fairies recognize what they need, and activate a specific memory to help the child. Even with Jack when he looked at his memories in the movie, you/he only saw what was pertinent to his becoming a spirit and a Guardian, completely skipping over all the other stuff in his life. But since Cassandra isn't sure what/who she's looking for and, as you pointed out, Pitch is easily one of the oldest spirits out there and therefore has millions if not trillions of memories, Cassandra either has to look through each memory individually (which would take forever) or she has to find more information about the spirit controlling Pitch and _then_ look through the memories with the narrower focus as a guide. When she looked into Pitch's memories at the Tooth Palace, she was basically doing a quick sprint to see if she could get lucky enough to discover the truth by chance, but obviously that didn't work. She'll dig much deeper into Pitch's memories in the future, so don't you worry. :)

 **WinterCrystal1009** : I'm excited for the battle too, but we're both going to have to wait a bit longer. A lot more has to happen between now and then.

 **SilversunXD** : It certainly is infuriating (and I'm the author), but that's what happens when you stick a child into a situation like this with spirits who are hundreds of years old and are, quite frankly, all pretty full of themselves.

 **starthedetective** : The deal with the rite is Cassandra's supposed to pick the spirit most worthy of death/replacement, so in Bunny's mind, by hurting her he'd become such a scumbag she'd have no choice but to pick him. That's where his logic was going, but who knows if it'll actually work in the end. As for the rest of your comment and the theories...hng! Oh, gee, there goes that feeling of being tortured again. ;)

 **Momochan77** : Yes, Cassandra will definitely need Barb's unconditional support, considering what the rite entails, and she one hundred percent deserves it.

Okay, two last things before we move on to the story:

First, I mention a place called "Little Lake" in this chapter. It's made up. But if there _does_ turn out to be a place in Pennsylvania called Little Lake...sorry, but it's not _that_ Little Lake. I tried to research a name/location that isn't real, but I'm not perfect, so I figured I'd cover my bases.

And speaking of covering my bases...here's point number two. I've been trying really, _really_ hard to keep track of all the little details in this story so that everything lines up, but as the story goes on that's becoming harder and harder since there's more and more characters and plot twists and hints and whatnot to keep tabs of. With that said, I've discovered in my writing of this chapter that there's a bit of a continuity error. Going back and tracing through the story line, it turns out a _lot_ has happened in a very small span of time: Cassandra was attacked by Bunny on a Monday night, we know that because when she stays home with Barb the next day Cassandra notes that it's a Tuesday. That means Thursday of that same week is when she goes to Ikiaq, and _that_ means Sophie lost her memories on a Friday and the whole situation with Barb and Mr. Bennett _at school_ happened on a Saturday...yeah...oops. I really struggled with whether or not I should tell you guys about this, but ultimately decided it was better to fess up now rather than wait until someone else pointed it out and made it all even more awkward. I spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out a way to fix it, but it would mean changing way too many details across a whole chunk of chapters, so instead of worrying about that right now, I'm just going to plead for your forgiveness and ask that you dispense disbelief a bit by moving the timeline back a day, so that the chapter you are about to read takes place on a Friday night/very early on Saturday morning. *bows deeply before running away to hide in embarrassment*

Please enjoy everyone!

* * *

They stay up the rest of the night, talking. In those hours sitting hunched over on the bed, the blonde woman alternately holding her hands and rubbing her shoulders reassuringly, Cassandra spoke more than she had in months. It was odd, to be sure, and more than a little disconcerting, like she was being ripped open and left horribly exposed. And yet…at the same time…it felt…good.

No. It felt better than good. It felt relieving. Rejuvenating. Enlivening. She felt like she'd been ripped open and exposed only to be made completely whole again.

Barb listened for the most part, allowing Cassandra to get a great many things off her chest. Things she hadn't told anyone before, about her mom and dad and the abrupt move from New York to Pennsylvania, in addition to the current situation with the spirit world. The latter was by far the most difficult to explain. Not because it was a sore topic, for they were all sour topics, but because Cassandra quickly discovered that the Easter Bunny had (purposefully, no doubt) failed to mention a couple of very major points in his explanation of the rite. Most notably excluded was the fact that Cassandra had to replace the spirit she chose, thereby trading her human mortality for the eternal life of a spirit.

That set Barb off like nothing else. For a short time, Cassandra actually worried that the woman was going to have an aneurysm, what with how red her face grew— _after_ it recovered from becoming shockingly white—and with how she ranted and cursed for a full five minutes without pausing for breath. She calmed down eventually, of course, only to drop back onto the bed and take hold of Cassandra's hands again, squeezing them like there was no tomorrow.

"I hate them," she hissed between her teeth. She refused to let go of Cassandra's hands, even after the girl gave a subtle tug. "How can they do this to you? It's outrageous!"

As she harbored incredibly mixed feelings about the prospect of becoming a spirit, Cassandra was unable to form a suitable comment one way or the other. So she said nothing. Barb eventually let the subject go, probably for the sake of her own sanity, and instead encouraged Cassandra to tell her more about what had happened recently.

And so she did, for a few minutes at least, until she discovered another point that the rabbit spirit had failed to properly explain: her current standing with Pitch Black. Admittedly, none of the Guardians fully understood her relationship with the Nightmare King, and they had absolutely no idea that Cassandra was actually trying to help him, but those truths didn't excuse them of spreading their blatant ignorance and bias. It was clear from several of the comments Barb made during the course of their conversation that she now believed, as they did, that Pitch Black was an evil and wicked spirit who was simply using Cassandra in his latest attempt to destroy the Guardians, and Cassandra just couldn't stand it. She wasn't stupid or naïve enough to deny that Pitch _was_ manipulating her and that he _was_ trying to exterminate the Guardians, but apart from the trick with the cloak (which, after a fierce but brief internal debate, Cassandra ended up showing to Barb), Pitch actually hadn't done anything even remotely evil to her. He was vehement in his declaration that he did not harm children, and he'd even left her brother alone when she'd told him to. A spirit who was truly malicious wouldn't have done that.

She explained all of this to Barb, who listened quite patiently and tried very hard to be understanding. But, in the end, the poor woman just couldn't get over the fact that a grown man of a spirit was spending his nights luring a young girl out of the house in order to use her for his own vile schemes.

"I just don't understand why you trusted him," she muttered. The cloak was in her lap, and she rubbed her fingers absently over the material even as she eyed it like it was about to burst into flames or spontaneously grow teeth and latch onto her. "He introduced himself to you in a _nightmare_ , for god's sake."

"He was the first person I'd met who knew about my magic," Cassandra explained. "And even though he knew, he didn't treat me like a freak. Yes, he's a bit of a jerk, but all the spirits are. The dream weaver's the only other one I find tolerable, but as one of the Guardians he can be rather narrow-minded sometimes. With Pitch, except for the matter with the cloak, it's pretty easy for me to tell when he's lying or evading my questions; he doesn't exactly have shame for being a smooth-talking bastard."

She coaxed a weak chuckle from Barb with that one. Cassandra smiled faintly in return before describing why she believed Pitch was secretly in trouble and what she had been doing to try and help. Barb's face pinched with some indiscernible emotion—something that fell between concern and confusion without being either one—but otherwise didn't react. Her silence was welcomed by Cassandra, who appreciated the chance to properly explain without interruption.

As she eventually approached the conclusion of the story, she told Barb, "That's why I left tonight. I wanted to see if I could learn the identity of the spirit controlling Pitch. The problem is, he's hundreds of years old, which means there's literally billions of memories stored in here." Her fingers clenched tightly around the brass tooth case, which she'd retrieved earlier when she'd gotten up to bring the cloak to Barb. It just hadn't seemed right to leave it lying on the floor like that, like it was something worthless and discarded. "And with no way of knowing exactly when the spirit first appeared or who—or even what—it is, it's impossible for me to pinpoint exactly which memories to look for. So I have to sort through all of them to try to find the answer."

She stared down at the tooth case, noting the way it gleamed dully in the fading moonlight. "I tried looking tonight, but it was a very hasty look, like flipping the pages of a book really, really fast to try and get lucky enough to find that one major spoiler. I saw a couple of their interactions, so I know a little bit more than I did before, but it's not enough. I have to go back further, and pay closer attention."

"But that will take time," Barb surmised. "A lot of time, I would imagine."

"A couple of hours at least." She withdrew her case-free hand from Barb's grip to rub wearily at her forehead. "I don't even know for sure if it'll work. Pitch's memories are all in the first-person, which normally I would understand, since nobody sees the world in third-person, but Frost's memories were all in the third person, like I was looking in on him rather than actually _being_ him. I don't know why it's different with Pitch. I could see and feel everything he saw and felt, and it's just _so much_ to take in. But so far I haven't been able to catch even a glimpse of what that damned spirit looks like. It's like…like he's there, but not there."

"A wind spirit, maybe?"

Cassandra shook her head. "They'd probably be able to disappear at will and become ethereal, but I don't think it's one of them. Frost and the Tooth Fairy both talked about the wind like it's sentient, like it's a person rather than a natural phenomenon. Frost is childish and mischievous, if rather naïve; I can't see a sentient being, even a neutral one, supporting someone like him _and_ being vile enough to control the Nightmare King. Besides, how or why would a wind spirit gain control of Pitch?"

"So we're looking for a spirit that's presumably male, judging from your description of its voice, is capable of enslaving a spirit as powerful as the Nightmare King, and is proficient enough—or at least knowledgeable enough—to even 'borrow' Pitch Black's powers in order to give you nightmares." Barb shook her head ruefully. "Damn…that's pretty specific, but with hundreds of spirits to choose from it's also not very helpful."

Cassandra studied the woman out of the corner of her eye. Barb was sitting there with the cloak still in her lap, one hand rubbing along her chin as her eyes grew vacant with thought. It was remarkable, borderline incomprehensible, how quickly the woman had transitioned from demeaning Pitch as a no-good child-tormenter to accepting that he needed help. She hadn't even questioned Cassandra's belief that the Nightmare King was even in trouble.

 _She trusts me,_ Cassandra realized, dumbstruck. _She actually trusts me, even after everything that's happened._

Sensing the stare that lingered for far too long, Barb looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You believe me," Cassandra murmured, more than a little flabbergasted by the prospect.

"Of course I do," Barb replied as if the fact was blatantly obvious. "It would be absurd for anyone to lie about something like that. Besides, I know you well enough by now to know you don't waste your time on pointless ventures. For you to take such a vested interest in this Pitch Black character, it's because you truly believe he's in serious trouble."

A scowl suddenly descended upon the woman's face. "Though I still intend to give him a good back-handing if I ever see him," she grumbled. "Birthday present, indeed. How come _he_ got to know about your birthday, and not me? We could've had cake and ice cream and gone to the Philadelphia Zoo or something. Made a weekend out of it."

"It was weeks ago, don't worry about it," Cassandra said. As surprised as she was that Barb seemed genuinely put-out over missing her birthday, she simply didn't care enough about March the twenty-eighth to entertain this conversation for very long. She had far more important things to worry about.

Oddly enough, her dismissiveness only seemed to rile Barb up more. Green eyes fixed upon her at once as Barb declared, "Dammit, Cassandra, I wanted to celebrate with you! I thought you were already twelve, not recently-turned twelve, and here I was, waiting and waiting for you to bring it up so we could do something special together. It's ridiculous that some stupid Nightmare King found out about it before me."

With a huff, she crossed her arms and pouted.

Instead of growing angry or annoyed at the rather immature display, as she probably would have otherwise, Cassandra found herself smothering a smile.

"Jealous?" she inquired, amusement dancing in her eyes. The thought of _anybody_ being jealous of Pitch Black was incredibly humorous; the fact that it was Barb made it ten times better.

"Yeah, yeah, sue me," the woman grumbled. "I'm telling you, we're going to have an outing this weekend if it's the last thing I do. You deserve it, one hundred percent." Then she brightened. "You know what? Tomorrow's Saturday. Keep the day open."

"Huh?"

"We're going to celebrate your birthday."

"But it was—"

"Weeks ago, yes, yes, I know. But we didn't get to celebrate, and I will _not_ allow that so-called Nightmare King to remain the only one who gives you a present. _If_ this can even be called a present." With great disdain, Barb pushed the cloak off of her lap. It landed in a heap on the floor. She then brushed her hands together, as if wiping them free of dirt, and announced, "An engagement gift is _not,_ and never will be, a suitable present for a twelve year old."

An odd combination of determination and excitement lit Barb's green eyes as she then declared, "Tomorrow we'll go up to Little Lake. It's not that far of a drive, and they don't make you reserve a site if you aren't planning to actually camp there. We can go canoeing or kayaking, walk some of the trails, visit the falls—oh, you _have_ to see the waterfalls. They're gorgeous this time of year, what with all the mountain snowmelt running down the river. They get so much snow up on those peaks, the water doesn't really slow down until early summer. And they have outdoor grills too, so we can do some burgers or hot dogs or something for lunch. Whatever you want."

Cassandra blinked. Then blinked again.

"A party?" she said, wholly unable to come up with anything else to say.

"It's not really a party…I know you're not into that sort of thing. It's more of a special outing, just for the two of us."

Cassandra had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Having never had a birthday cake, let alone anything even resembling a "special outing", and having never had anyone interested enough in her to invite her to one of their own parties, Cassandra had literally zero reference for what was considered proper etiquette in this type of situation.

Not wanting to just sit there like an idiot, though, she eventually settled with: "Umm…sure?"

"Great! We can grab a cake on the way, since it's a bit late to make one. Do you prefer chocolate or vanilla? They also do marble cakes, which are a combination of both."

"Chocolate. But with white frosting though." Her school back in New York once served tiny slivers of cake to celebrate some sort of district milestone. It had been chocolate-on-chocolate, and while she'd liked the cake itself (as well as one could like cheap school-made cake, anyway) the frosting had been a bit much.

"Perfect." Barb got to her feet. "Better get to bed. We have to leave by nine if we want to get there at a decent time. It's a two hour drive."

Cassandra slept like a rock that night. Thankfully no dreams or nightmares came to haunt her, because she really was exhausted from staying up late and crying so much. She woke up at quarter-to-seven on Saturday morning to the sounds of Barb puttering around the kitchen. Judging by the smell, she was making coffee. Cassandra rose from bed, showered, dressed, thoroughly enjoyed the omelet Barb made especially for her (extra peppers and easy on the cheese), and was climbing into the passenger seat of Barb's silver hatchback by eight o'clock.

In fact, the only downside to the entire morning was the fact that Barb didn't have a fenced yard, so they were forced to bring Barney.

* * *

It had only been an hour or so since Fisher's blonde guardian had left the Warren. As soon as she was gone, both Bunny and Jack retreated to the safety of the Pooka's home, each secluding themselves in a separate room in order to think.

For his part, Jack still believed they'd done the right thing by telling the woman what was going on. At the same time, though, he knew there was always a possibility that she would spill the beans to Fisher, thus ruining the Guardians' carefully-laid plan. Forget defeating Pitch and protecting the others, as that was and always would be top priority in this venture, Jack didn't want the time he'd spent cooped up in the Warren to go to waste. Staying hidden for so long was much harder—and exceptionally more boring—than he ever thought it could be.

"Jack," Bunnymund called from the other room, startling the frost spirit from his thoughts. Jack immediately flew to him.

"What?" he asked. Upon catching sight of Baby Tooth, he was stuck with a sharp prick of fear. "What's wrong?"

Baby Tooth twittered, but for the life of him Jack couldn't understand a thing she was saying. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty urgent for Tooth to risk sending her. While the three of them were pretty secluded right now inside Bunny's house, someone might see the little fairy leave.

Someone might have even seen her arrive.

Luckily, Bunnymund was more capable of interpreting fairy-speech than Jack was.

"Seems this was left under a little ankle biter's pillow, along with a tooth," the diminutive Pooka explained as he passed Jack a scrap of paper.

The writing was so messy it could barely be counted as a scribble, and the spelling was simply atrocious. But as Jack was used to receiving crayon-written notes like this from his youngest believers, he could understand it perfectly despite its many flaws.

Dere toth fary

inSted of Levng monY

PleeS tel Jak i want to Se him

(u can stil hav mY toth tho)

Normally, Jack would be flattered that a kid would rather have a visit from him than a gift from Tooth. But the note conveyed a sense of urgency that wasn't explicitly stated in the very, _very_ messy text, and Jack couldn't shake the sense that something about this just wasn't right.

"Whose was it?" he inquired. Despite his efforts to maintain a façade of complete calm, a little bit of the disquiet currently surging through his stomach seeped into the words. "Whose house?"

Baby Tooth twittered again, but Bunny interrupted her.

"It don't matter who it was," he said, the words coming out sharper than he probably intended them to.

Jack whipped around to face him. "Why not?"

"You can't go see them," Bunnymund pointed out reasonably. "You can't be seen, remember?"

"What if they're in trouble?" Jack countered. "Tooth wouldn't have sent the note here if _she_ didn't think it was important."

A thought struck him suddenly. He turned back to Baby Tooth.

"This isn't about Fisher, is it?"

The little fairy shook her head, but something about her chirping response brought the next question swiftly to Jack's mind.

"Was it someone from Burgess?"

Looking grim, the fairy nodded.

"Even more reason not to go," Bunny stated with finality, as if that settled the matter.

Unfortunately for him, the matter was not settled at all in Jack's mind. If anything, the fact that the note had come from Burgess spurred the boy spirit's stubborn streak into overdrive.

"Even more reason for us _to_ go. The kid's obviously in trouble!"

"If he is, it's Pitch's fault, and there's nothing we can do about it right now," the rabbit spirit shot back. "We stick to the plan, and the plan is that you. Cannot. Be seen!"

"I'll go quickly and come right back! Come on, Bunny, it won't hurt to fly in real fast just to check up on him!"

The Pooka's words were ice cold. "Remember the last time you said you'd be quick?"

Jack felt like he'd been slapped in the face. Of _course_ Bunnymund would bring that incident up again. Guilt crashed over him like a wave, but a riptide of anger immediately followed.

"That was years ago, and I'm not stupid, Bunny! You think I'm going to do the same dumb thing twice?"

"Sure looks like it to me."

"Well I'm not! This isn't about me anymore! It's about the kids!"

"You're right, and _because_ it's about the kids, you're gonna sit tight and wait for the rest of the plan!"

Jack made a loud, frustrated noise in the back of his throat and threw his hands into the air. "For Manny's sake, Bunny, stop being so damn stubborn! What do you expect me to do?! Keep the kid waiting for a whole week and then say 'sorry, but I was too busy to bother seeing you'? Say I do that—okay?—say I do that, and then we _lose_ against Pitch!"

Bunny froze.

"Or better yet," Jack went on, completely worked up. "What if I do that and then I get _picked_? Huh? You want me to keep that poor kid waiting forever? You want him to find out I _died_ without bothering to find the time to see him first?!"

He stood there panting as his anger finally dissipated, leaving him physically and emotionally drained. He was the Guardian of Fun, he wasn't cut out to be this stressed all the time. The rite was going to be the death of him, even if he wasn't picked, he was sure of it.

With a sigh, Jack relented, "I'm just saying, it isn't right to keep the kid waiting, especially since we don't really know how this is all gonna turn out. If someone does happen to see me, I can always lie, you know? I can pretend I went back just one more time, like a final farewell, and the kid saw me or something. That's believable, right?"

He heard Bunnymund sigh, long and heavily. Jack peeked over at him just in time to see the Pooka drag a tiny paw down over his face. Hard.

"You're right," the Guardian of Hope grumbled. Jack gaped at him, prompting him to growl out, "I can say that once and a while, you gumby. I know when I'm wrong."

With an air of feigned superiority, Jack informed him haughtily, "If this is your way of apologizing, then I accept."

"Oh, rack off."

Jack sniggered. Bunnymund grumbled under his breath, but Jack could clearly see the smile quirking the corners of Bunny's mouth.

"Listen," the Pooka said, his expression becoming serious once more. "This is incredibly risky, _especially_ if this is a trap set by Pitch. But you're right. We can't leave the kid hanging like that. Who knows what could happen…he might even lose his belief, or at least his faith in Tooth's ability to deliver messages."

Baby Tooth folded her delicate arms and glared down her long, slim beak at Bunnymund, who pointedly (and wisely) ignored the icy look. It seemed she didn't like his poor idea of a joke one bit.

"Either way," he continued, "it's not something we should do. The kids have to come first, even before ourselves."

He drew a long breath, giving himself a moment to think. Once he let it out again, he announced, "Go tonight. Since you gave that woman your last snow globe, you'll have to take one of the egg tunnels to get out. I'd suggest the European or South American one."

"Far enough from here and from Burgess not to raise suspicion."

Bunny nodded an affirmation. "Just be sure to keep your bloody head. The last couple of times you went to Burgess, you kinda dug yourself into a hole, mate. First you went flying off to Pitch's realm over that bit with Jamie, then with Fisher…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Jack interrupted. He casually swung his staff up onto his shoulder as he recited, "Be quick, keep calm, and tell a good lie if anybody sees me."

"And if you see Pitch," Bunnymund warned, "run. No matter what he says, no matter what he tries to do to you, you run away as fast as you can."

Jack nodded his agreement then gave the Pooka a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Bunny."

"Don't thank me. This is a terrible idea, but obviously Tooth wants you to go otherwise she wouldn't have bothered showing us the note. And like you said…with things this precarious, we just can't risk it."

"I'll take the South American tunnels. That way it'll look like I flew up from Antarctica. Since its winter down there, it won't look suspicious." Jack turned to Baby Tooth. "You go back to the Tooth Palace. Tell Tooth I'll be heading for El Calafate. One of the fairies heading there on a job can bump into me on accident." He grinned. "On accident," he repeated, and spotted a knowing smirk as it danced across Baby Tooth's face. "We can play it off like I don't want to see you guys, that I want to be alone and miserable, but whoever meets me will convince me to follow her and take me to the kid's house. That way if someone happens to see us, even if it's Pitch, we can play it off like neither of us wanted to be in that situation but we put up with it for the kid's sake. We _are_ still Guardians of Childhood, even if we're supposedly fighting and I'm super depressed. And if push comes to shove, I can double down with the 'visiting my home one last time' scenario."

"Brilliant, Jack," Bunny said, genuine approval coloring his heavily accented voice. Jack preened, savoring the exceptionally rare moment in which the Pooka actually acknowledged that he'd done a good job.

It was definitely a thousand times better than being told he was wrong.

* * *

Everything was going exactly to plan….so far. Jack had wandered into South America, making a big show of looking dejected and miserable. For the first part of the plan to work, he'd needed to take his time and give the fairies ample opportunity to reach El Calafate before him. Unfortunately for him, that meant keeping himself occupied for an extended period of time, and Jack ended up wandering quite widely in search of things to do. While it was technically early winter on the continent, with so many different climates scattered throughout the region the frost spirit was hard-pressed to find suitable places to linger. He stopped in the Atacama Desert first. It was a cool thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit that night, and definitely isolated enough to suit his current purpose, but it just wasn't humid enough to make any ice. So he left it behind and made his way into Patagonia, meandering southward through the Andes as if lacking a clear destination. He even took time to visit a few villages, casting some pretty cool icicles along the way, (although he was careful not to look _at all_ excited about his shimmering creations and avoided lingering near any windows, just in case a young believer was awake).

It took a couple of hours, but eventually he made it to El Calafate. There were a few fairies flitting around, but not many. Thanks to its perfect position between a gorgeous lake and a glacier-centered national park, El Calafate was largely a tourists' destination and didn't possess many permanent residents. Fewer kids, fewer believers, fewer teeth to collect. This, however, only served to add to Jack's current charade. Who would ever raise questions over a lonely and dejected Jack Frost passing through a cool, quiet, glacier-centered town?

And that was how Jack eventually found himself skating along the partially-frozen surface of Lake Argentino, his head bowed as if lost in depressed self-reflection. Actually…skating wasn't really the word for what he was doing. It was more like 'aimless sliding'. He hardly moved his legs at all, leaving Wind to offer a much-appreciated assist by blowing him along on a very, _very_ gentle breeze.

 _Man, am I milking this one._

Jack slid to a gradual stop. He stood there a moment before lifting his head to stare at the moon. His hood was up, making it hard for any onlookers to see his face and judge what he was thinking. …and there _were_ onlookers. Jack knew from the moment he'd made his second of three border-hops into Chile that there was someone following him. He had yet to catch a glimpse of the prying spirit, but he knew for a fact that they were there.

 _This is where it really gets tough._

After spending a few minutes sadly contemplating the moon, Jack heaved a heavy sigh, lowered his head, and skated to the edge of the lake. He walked for a bit—just a bit—before lifting off into the air. He flew low, staring down upon the frost-covered rooftops as if at a loss as to what to do next.

Twittering soon caught his attention. Jack glanced around, and spotted one of Tooth's fairies waving frantically at him with one hand; the other clutched a pearly white tooth.

Forcing a scowl upon his lips, Jack veered sharply right as if to ignore the tiny spirit. But the fairy (being naturally stubborn in addition to obviously knowing about the plan) went zooming after him. He tried to lose her, making a show of flying faster as if attempting to escape, but the effort served to only attract more attention. In less than a minute he had a dozen of the tiny spirits speeding after him, some with coins and others with teeth, but all of them chirping like mad.

"All right!" he finally barked, skidding to a mid-air halt. He whirled to face his pursuers, glaring at them when really all he wanted to do was burst into raucous laughter at their tenacity. Forcing himself to sound annoyed rather than deeply amused, he snapped, "What do you want?"

They twittered and chirped, and the first fairy continued to gesture as if she wanted him to follow her.

Maintaining the rude ambiance, Jack informed her, "I'm not following you. Now leave me alone."

He made to fly off again, only to be stabbed none-too-gently in the ear by an aggravated fairy.

"Ow!" He clapped a hand to his ear. "What was that for?" he cried, not even needing to fake the emotion that time.

The fairy that had pricked him with her surprisingly sharp beak gave him a condescending look. He raised his brows, asking with one sarcastic expression: _What_? Rolling her eyes, the fairy once again gestured for him to follow.

He put a fist to his hip in a show of defiance. "You're really not gonna let up on this, are you?"

All twelve fairies shook their heads firmly. In his struggle not to laugh at their valiant attempt to look intimidating, Jack had to speak between clenched teeth.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with. But I'm _not_ going anywhere near the others, understand? You take me anywhere near them and I'll freeze the lot of you into snowballs!"

Even though he didn't really mean it and they _knew_ he would never actually do such a thing, the fairies still looked genuinely shocked to hear him utter such a threat. They chirruped nervously amongst themselves before the one that had stabbed him in the ear took one for the team and offered to lead the way.

As they flew, Jack made it a point to appear more and more agitated. He was downright scowling by the time they crossed the Mississippi River, and when they were about ten or fifteen miles from Burgess, the flickering lights just barely visible on the distant horizon, he decided he ought to reinforce his current image as a broken, angry, and downright suspicious spirit.

After all, that still-unknown spirit was still stalking him.

"Are we going to Burgess?"

The fairy twittered and nodded, but didn't so much as glance his way.

Jack pulled up short and loudly declared, "I am _not_ going there! No way!"

He spun around as if to fly away, and by complete accident managed to catch a glimpse of who—or rather, _what_ —had been following them before it vanished into the trees below.

One of Morsoi's sprites.

 _Great._

That the spirit of pestilence and plague was _still_ suspicious was not good. Hopefully between Jack and the fairy, they could get word to the other Guardians that they needed to keep an extra-sharp eye out.

Luckily for him and their current scheme, it was easy for Jack to pretend he hadn't seen the sprite. He simply continued with the pretense of leaving, which in turn left the poor hassled fairy with no choice but to stick him in the ear again with her beak.

"Ow! Will you _stop_ doing that?!"

She twittered furiously, making it crystal clear that he _would_ go to Burgess and that she would absolutely drag him there if she had to.

Jack groused, "What's this about anyway? It better not be about Fisher."

The fairy shook her head briskly.

"Pitch? 'Cause I'm sick of him, too."

Another shake of the head, more firm than the last.

"What? A kid then?"

Looking positively relieved (man, this fairy was a good actress), the tiny spirit nodded eagerly and zoomed off before he could get another word in. Jack groaned loudly, but followed, though he kept his staff-free hand stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as if he _still_ didn't like the idea one bit.

When they arrived in Burgess, the fairy took him straight to Troy Bellings' house. Jack felt as if a stone had been dropped right into the pit of his stomach. Little Troy? He was the one who wrote that note? As he climbed through the little boy's window, the fairy hightailed it outta there. Jack made a mental note to thank all the fairies for their stupendous effort once this was all over with.

Troy was sound asleep in bed, but he wasn't dreaming, which was odd. The boy dreamt all the time, usually about dinosaurs and goldfish—Jack knew that because Troy told him about his nocturnal adventures all the time.

"Hey," Jack whispered, gently shaking the boy awake. "Hey."

Troy moaned and rubbed his eyes, grumbling something that sounded a lot like "Stop it, Trevor." When Jack chuckled quietly, the boy's eyes snapped open and he gasped.

"Jack!"

"It's me."

Thin arms immediately flung around his neck. Jack had to use the boy's sleep-tousled hair to hide his smile as Troy hugged him tightly. The smile faded, however, when the embrace lingered for far too long, betraying a desperate clinging rather than a welcoming hug.

Voice muffled by messy brown locks, Jack inquired, "What's wrong, Troy? Why did the fairies ask me to come here?"

"It's Mr. Bennett." Jack's blood immediately went cold. Troy pulled away from his chest to tell him in a tearful whisper, "He's so sad, Jack. Trevor and Meghan and Logan and all of us…we've been trying to play with him, but he won't. He won't play with us or talk to us about the Guardians or anything."

Jack chose his words carefully: "Things happen to adults sometimes, Troy. Maybe…maybe Jamie lost a good friend or a family member. Remember how sad Miracle was when she lost her grandma? And Ms. Price when she lost her mom last year?"

"This is different," Troy mumbled. He seemed rather reluctant to say more, for whatever reason, so Jack gently prompted him.

"Different how?"

"Well…" Again, Troy hesitated. "A few weeks ago, he suddenly started getting all antsy whenever we tried to talk to him about the Guardians. He'd still talk with us about you guys, but…but he was just…quieter. You know? Like before he'd tell us great stories and all these things, but now he just listens most of the time."

"I see…"

"And then yesterday he was really, _really_ sad. He wouldn't talk to anybody. Trevor and I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he just said something real quiet about Ms. Sophie, and when Trevor tried to ask him what he'd said 'cause we didn't hear him, Mr. Bennett just got up and left."

Jack's stomach clenched. He had to struggle to keep his response calm. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean…Mr. Bennett isn't like that. He isn't rude. But yesterday he was a little. But Trevor said it was 'cause something was wrong with Ms. Sophie, so we should forgive him since he didn't really mean it."

Troy forced a small, sad smile upon his mouth as he looked up at Jack with wide, trusting eyes. "Can you please go see Mr. Bennett and cheer him up? You're always really good at making people feel better, Jack."

Jack's eyes filled with frosty tears. He reached out with both arms and snatched the boy up into a crushing embrace.

"I'll do what I can," he promised the boy, whispering the words into his ear even as he tried to hold back the fear and the dread that was building steadily inside of him. "I'll do anything I can to make Jamie feel better, Troy. I promise."

The boy hugged him back. "Good," he said, that one simple word conveying his unconditional faith in the Guardian of Fun.

Jack let him go. Confident now that he wasn't going to burst out crying in front of the poor boy, he laid a comforting hand on Troy's shoulder and said, "We'll be sure to let you know what happens. In the meantime, you and Trevor and your friends just keep on being nice to Jamie and Sophie, and give them their space if they need it. Okay?"

The boy nodded. "Yes. Yes, we can do that. Thank you, Jack."

As Jack climbed back through the window and set off across Burgess, he couldn't help but wonder just what in the heck was going on now. Jamie's reluctance to speak to the children about the Guardians was easily explained by Issitoq's judgment, which Jack now knew (thanks to Fisher's blonde guardian) had both Bennett siblings under threat of losing their belief if they spoke out against Fisher or Pitch in any way. But for Jamie to be suddenly become _sad_ …and for him to be sad about _Sophie_ …

What was it that the angry blonde woman had said? That the Bennetts were all right "as far as she knew."

 _Something's happened,_ Jack thought, panic building inside of him like a crescendo. _Something's happened to Sophie and its hurting Jamie so badly…_

There was a horrible, dawning realization of what had transpired, but he stubbornly refused to accept. This was Sophie Bennett, after all, not just any old believer. Even after Pippa and the twins and everyone else from their time had forgotten, Sophie and Jamie continued to see and hear and believe.

If something had really happened to her…if she'd interfered in the rite again and lost her belief…

"Hello Frost."

Jack nearly had a heart attack. He actually had to catch himself before he fell out of the sky, gesturing wildly with his staff to redirect his wind-borne body to the safety of a nearby rooftop. Gasping for breath, he stared around wildly, trying to determine the location of the one who'd spoken.

"Up here," the voice offered helpfully, politely.

Jack's attention shot upwards. Perched atop an adjacent building (which was three stories taller than the one Jack currently stood upon), was a spirit whom he instantly recognized.

"Morsoi," he growled, his expression falling into a deep-set scowl.

The short, admittedly handsome spirit of pestilence stood with his arms clasped loosely behind his back—a gentlemanly display of complete relaxation if ever there was one. His smile was so very courteous it was downright condescending, as if he were forcing himself to be polite when really he found Jack to be very much beneath him.

"Welcome back, young Frost," Morsoi said, voice as smooth and deceptively suave as always. "Although I must admit, I am rather surprised at you. I did not expect you to return so soon…if at all."

Jack's jaw clenched. "I was forced here."

"So you were. Those little fairies can be quite troublesome when they wish to be."

Jack feigned ignorance. "How do you know about them? Are you spying on me?"

"Oh no, not spying." Smugness seeped from every word. "Spying carries a strong connotation of ill-intent, and I can assure you that I harbor no such feelings."

"Then why are you bothering me?"

Morsoi's smile still hadn't wavered. It was pissing Jack off to no end…and sending his internal warning bells into a ringing frenzy.

"When word reaches my ears that a certain young Guardian has gone missing, is it not natural for me to ensure that you are all right?"

"I'm fine," Jack grunted, not buying the other spirit's false concern one bit. "Now leave me alone."

He spun on his heel and made to lift into the sky, but Morsoi's next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"I had expected you to be troubled, or at least deeply concerned, but it seems I needn't have worried."

Jack turned back to him, blue eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Have you not heard?"

"Heard what?"

"About the Bennetts."

"Jamie's having a hard time. So what? Troy already told me."

"Ah. So that's what they called you here for."

In his frustration and anger, Jack coated the side of the building Morsoi stood upon with a sheet of ice. It melted almost instantly in the late-May heat, and did absolutely nothing to make Jack feel better, but he figured it was better than attacking Morsoi himself, which was what he _really_ wanted to do.

The ancient spirit barely even blinked at the display. He actually shook his head at Jack, as if the frost spirit was an immature child, and murmured, "Temper, temper." Then he added a bit louder, "I see Guardianship hasn't changed you one bit."

"Don't talk about the Guardians!" Jack snarled. "I don't want to hear any more from you!"

"Not even news about your dear friend Sophie Bennett?"

Jack's stomach clenched so painfully hard, it took him half a moment to find his voice and force it up his throat. "What do you mean?"

The ever-observant Morsoi noticed the slight pause, of course. That infuriatingly serene (if blatantly smug) smile widened as he admitted, "You know, I have been wondering: If the Bennetts are so very important to you Guardians, why is it that none of you came to them in their time of need? Even now, knowing as you do from your precious little informer that Jamie Bennett is suffering, you don't seem all that interested."

He leered at Jack. "Some friends you are. Then again…you _are_ called the Guardians of Childhood, not the Guardians of Humanity. Adults just don't possess the same guarantees as their younger counterparts, hm?"

"What are you talking about?" In spite of his efforts to remain coolly nonchalant, a bit of panic crept into Jack's voice. "What suffering? What's happened?" He remembered what Troy had told him and rephrased the question. "What happened to Sophie?"

"Why don't you go see for yourself?"

Jack stood there, torn between the undeniable need to go and the knowledge that even if he went, it probably wouldn't do much good. Issitoq's judgment still stood, after all, so he'd probably be prevented from getting anywhere near Sophie or Jamie. But…but this was an extenuating circumstance, right? Surely Issitoq wouldn't stop him from checking in on them, just to make sure they were okay.

…right?

Without a word of warning, he sped off for Sophie's apartment, hoping against hope that nothing too terribly awful had happened to her. He landed at her front window and peered inside. The living room light was on, and there was Sophie sprawled out on the couch. She seemed all right, at least from this angle. She was watching a movie, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn and an empty glass situated on the coffee table, both within easy reach.

To Jack's great surprise, he could not only see into the apartment, he could also _enter_ the apartment. He found that out when he suddenly realized he had both hands and half his face pressed up against the windowpanes yet he wasn't getting shocked by Issitoq's magic, which had been the case the last time he'd tried to visit Jamie.

Did that mean something had happened to her after all, something bad enough for Issitoq to grant temporary reprieve from his ruling?

Touching down in her living room, Jack called, "Sophie, you okay?"

She didn't respond.

"Sophie?" He approached her hesitantly, trying to peer into her eyes. It was hard with the way she was half-sitting, half-lying against the arm of the couch, staring listlessly at the TV. He repeated more hesitantly, "Are you okay?" He reached out a hand. "Sophie?"

With a sigh, Sophie Bennett sat up on the couch. She rubbed her eyes sleepily then reached for her empty cup. As she did so, her head and her arm _passed right through him._

Jack felt as if he'd been punched right in the gut. He staggered back a couple of steps, hunched over and clutching at his chest as each rasping breath tore at his lungs. He watched helplessly as Sophie strode from the room to get another drink, completely unaware of his presence and his agony.

No…no…! Not Sophie! It couldn't be! What had happened?! WHAT THE HELL HAD HAPPENED TO SOPHIE?!

He left the apartment, unable to bear the sight of her any longer, only to come face-to-face with Morsoi. That the spirit of pestilence and plague had followed him here—that this slimy, putrid **bastard** had found out about Sophie losing her belief before he or any of the Guardians—filled Jack with unbridled rage and pain and grief.

"You!" he snarled at the ancient spirit, thrusting his staff forward in a very clear threat. "What did you do to Sophie?!"

"Nothing, I assure you."

"Then how did you know? HOW DID YOU KNOW WHAT HAD HAPPENED IF YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO HER?!"

"Perhaps I simply heard a tiny voice on the wind."

Jack didn't have to answer that time, as Wind answered for him. A sudden gust screamed down the empty street, whipping at Morsoi so harshly the spirit of pestilence was nearly knocked over. He staggered a few steps before catching himself, and as Wind's indignation died swiftly away, he stood there calmly, primly, straightening his clothes as if nothing had happened. When he eventually looked up again, that positively infuriating smile was still plastered on his stupid little face.

"I simply told her that one of the Guardians was going to die," he told Jack smoothly, a picture of innocence. "What she chose to do with that information is none of my concern."

"You knew exactly was she was going to do with it!" Jack yelled.

"Did I?"

"Yes! That's why you told her!"

"I merely participated in a polite conversation. Is that a crime? I couldn't help but wonder how she had managed to spot one of my sprites, considering she had never heard of me before. So I introduced myself, and it all just… _flowed_ from there," he said with a careless flick of the wrist, as if to demonstrate just how natural that "flow" had been.

Jack's voice grew low and dangerously cold, "You manipulative bastard."

"Say what you want, little Frost. Obviously I was not in the wrong, or Issitoq would have punished me for interfering in his little game. I hold no ill-will towards the Bennetts, or you Guardians, or Pitch Black, really. I simply want to be entertained."

"You think this is fun? Is the rite and everything it entails just a _game_ to you?"

"Do not act so indignant, Jack Frost. The rite may be of great importance to you because you are part of it, but to the rest of the spirit world it is little more than an exceptionally rare spectacle. There's even a betting pool as to which of you will get picked, did you know that? At present you are the top choice, although Bunnymund and Pitch Black are close behind. If I had thought this was merely a game, I would have stooped to participating in that wretched scheme, but I have not done so. And, unlike those who _are_ participating in it, I will openly admit to you and to anyone else who asks that I find this whole situation vastly entertaining."

"Fuck you."

"Indeed. Fuck me, fuck you, and fuck every other creature on this planet. You grow bored with it all after a while. Four thousand years is an awfully long time to wander around waiting for something novel to happen."

"Do not speak to me ever again," Jack hissed. He was shaking, his emotions raw and barely contained. "If I see you, if I so much as hear your wretched voice…I swear on everything that exists in this world, I will _kill_ you."

Morsoi was wholly unfazed by the threat. "You can try, little Jack Frost. Unlike you and yours, my allies are actually loyal to me."

As if to give credence to those words, more than a dozen silhouettes shifted noticeably in the nearby shadows. Sprites. Jack was dying to retaliate, but knew that doing so would be a useless and downright suicidal gesture. He was livid and crushed and shaken to his very core, but he still couldn't bring himself to destroy what little chance the Guardians still had of escaping this mess relatively unscathed.

And so, instead of giving in to his incredibly violent urges, Jack Frost did the wise thing for once: he turned his back on the spirit of pestilence and disappeared from Burgess.

* * *

A lone Nightmare, expertly concealed within the shadows of the night, witnessed everything that had transpired between the spirit of pestilence and the Guardian of Fun. Once the frost spirit was gone, she galloped back home to report to her master, who positively delighted in the news that the Guardians were, indeed, irreparably undone.

 _Two down…three to go._


	23. Doubts

Author's Note:

Hello and welcome all! Thanks for your love and support for the last chapter. :D

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** I'm really happy that you like Barb. And yeah, even with all this serious stuff going on Jack is still the Guardian of Fun, so he's going to try and make things entertaining whenever he can. It was fun imagining him trying so hard to act depressed and lonely when really he's just trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

 **starthedetective:** Barb saw Bunny and Jack because she believed. It was just like with the Watchful Eye: she read the scroll Jamie "gave" her and vocally denied it was real but at the same time some teeny tiny part of her must have believed because she saw the Eye at her house. From there she was still in denial, but deep down was starting to wonder if the rest of it was real because the Eye was real and she saw Cassandra flying. That's when she saw Sandy's dream sand, and from there her belief just spiraled. So she really did believe in Jack and Bunny, the story just didn't come right out and say it because as I said, even after all of that Barb was still kinda in denial. ;)

 **Silversun XD:** Yeah, manipulations...this story's full of it.

 **Skyress1:** Everyone wants Morsoi to get punched/slapped in the face. Lol. I wonder if that would be a good idea, though, him being the spirit of plague and all. And, yes, I knew from the very beginning who Cassandra was going to pick. When I first sat down to begin this story I knew exactly how the plot was going to go, it was just a matter of getting it all down onto paper (well...Word Document). ;) And there will definitely be more of Pitch in the future, we're just not seeing a whole lot of him right now. Tentatively (and I mean tentatively) the chapter after next is when you'll start seeing/hearing from him again. With the way my writing goes, things I think can fit into one chapter turn into two or three while things I want to fit across a couple of chapters wind up fitting into one, so I don't want to give you a definite answer and get your hopes up, but that's my best guesstimate at this point.

 **Momochan77:** That's okay, I completely understand a busy schedule. I finally have a full time job (yay!) plus I'm picking up a summer college class to expand upon my skill-base, so my life is also a bit crazy. I won't harp on you or anyone else for reading/reviewing late since my once-a-week updating schedule is pretty much out the window at this point.

Please enjoy everyone!

* * *

After that disastrous run-in with Morsoi, Jack flew back to the Warren as fast as he could. He sped over both of the Americas in record speed, then dove into the egg tunnels. When he reached the other end he burst out into the Warren, flushed and panting from exertion.

"Jack!" Bunny cried, sprinting out to meet him. "What's happened? What's wrong?!"

"Get the others," Jack instructed in a rush. "I need to tell them!"

"Tell them what? You're not making any sense, mate!"

"It's Sophie. Something's happened to Sophie, and Jamie might be next!"

Bunny was clearly dying to ask more, but he staved off further questions. Instead, he nodded briskly before bounding away to send word to the others. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jack vaguely wondered if he hadn't asked because he didn't want to waste time, or if the Pooka was purposefully putting off learning the truth because he was scared.

Considering the nature of Bunny's and Sophie's relationship, the latter was most likely the case.

Despite the urgency of the summons, it took quite a while for the others to arrive. With Morsoi still suspicious of them, daytime travel was by far the safer option: the spirit of pestilence and plague was one of the few dark spirits that could travel as freely by day as he did by night, but he and his sprites much preferred the security of darkness, for that was when they were at their strongest. So North, Sandy and Tooth chose to wait until the sun had fully risen before departing for the Warren. North turned up first via snow globe, Sandy appeared some twenty minutes later riding a sleek yellow spy plane (he winked at Jack when the frost spirit raised a quizzical brow at his choice of aircraft), and Tooth popped out of the Asian egg tunnel soon afterward.

They all gathered around Jack inside Bunny's house, looking unspeakably anxious. He dove into the story without preamble.

"The note was from Troy Bellings. He wanted to ask me if I would go visit Jamie and cheer him up, because he's been acting weird lately. I figured it had to do with Issitoq's judgment, so I tried to tell Troy that he really shouldn't worry, that adults get upset about things sometimes too, but Troy also said Jamie was really sad yesterday and that it had something to do with Sophie."

Tooth gasped. "Not Pitch!"

"Did he do something to her?" Bunny growled, the gray fur between his shoulder blades standing on end. "I swear, if that filthy ratbag laid even a finger on her—"

"It was Morsoi," Jack declared.

Everyone stared at him, mouths gaping open.

"I saw him. He was waiting for me in Burgess. He was saying all this crazy stuff, about me being a terrible friend and 'didn't I know about the Bennetts'. He tricked her, you guys. He went to Sophie and _told_ her about Fisher and the rite." His lip quivered as he fought back angry tears. "He goaded her into going to see Fisher. She must've talked to her about us, because…because…"

"Shostakovich," North breathed. He sank into a seat and buried his face in his massive hands.

"You're lying," Bunny whispered. The crack in his voice prompted Jack to look at him. The Pooka was curling in on himself, shaking like a wind-battered leaf as tears began to seep out of his enormous green eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bunny," the frost spirit said, a couple tears of his own escaping down icy cheeks. He hated to see his friend so devastated.

"No," the Pooka said, the firmness of his tone completely belied by the tears still tracking through his fur. "No you're lying, mate. There ain't no way…ain't no way she… Sophie was never gonna… _could_ never…"

Tooth landed beside the distraught Pooka. She reached out to gather him up into a hug, but he batted her hands away with his tiny paws and glared up at Jack.

"You're lying! Sophie would never do that! She'd _never_ forget us!"

"She fell for Morsoi's tricks," North mumbled into his palms. "It's done, Bunny."

"No! No that _can't_ be! Issitoq wouldn't have gone through with it if she was tricked, it wouldn't be fair! And Sophie…Sophie ain't stupid! She wouldn't have fallen for his lies in the first place!"

"He told her about the rite," Tooth said softly. "It stands to reason he told her just enough about Pitch's and Cassandra's involvement in it to scare her. Sophie probably thought reasoning with Cassandra was a sacrifice she had to make in order to save us."

"NO!" Bunny scrambled back from them, glaring at them all with accusation in his water-logged emerald eyes. "This ain't…this isn't… _it ain't fair! I didn't even get to say goodbye!_ "

He turned and fled from them, sealing himself in his private room with a slam of the door. Through the brightly-painted wood, they could all hear the Pooka sobbing.

* * *

They made it to Little Lake just after eleven o'clock. The drive was uneventful, although they had to pull over twice to let Barney pee (which was annoying), and Barb insisted they make a quick stop at a shopping center to grab some food and a cake (which was far less annoying). Since they couldn't leave Barney in the car alone thanks to the temperatures, Cassandra stayed in the hatchback with him while Barb shopped. He growled at every passing pedestrian and positively lost his mind at the sight of an empty garbage bag blowing through the air, but Cassandra succeeded in tuning him out by switching on her iPod. Thanks to her newly hyper-sensitized ears, she had to keep the volume turned down very low, but even so it worked wonders on blocking out the endless yapping.

She turned the iPod off again when Barb returned with a package of hot dogs, a bag of buns, and a case of bottled water. She also had a small bag bearing an unfamiliar logo that she tucked under the backseat, safe from Barney's claws. Upon noticing Cassandra's curious state, Barb winked and said, "It's a surprise."

 _A birthday present,_ Cassandra realized immediately. The thought of getting a present—a _real_ present—made her feel very warm inside. She had to turn and look out the window to hide her smile.

Little Lake was gorgeous. The water was simply stunning, smooth as glass and flickering brilliantly in the late-May sun. There were several families already there, but the day-sites were far enough apart that they weren't bothered by anybody. Barb selected a place that had a clean grill and was equal distance from both the dock and the trailhead. A short walk up a crushed-stone pathway was the so-called "Ranger's Stop", where you could pay to rent a boat or go to the bathroom or buy things like sunscreen or band aids if you needed them. Why it was called the Ranger's Stop was beyond Cassandra's capacity to understand; there weren't any forest rangers assigned to this campground, and the people who utilized the facilities could hardly be called rangers themselves. Judging from the way one guy on the beach was struggling to put on a life-jacket, it was a mystery how many of them had even survived the drive up here.

After depositing their food on the picnic table, Barb and Cassandra (plus Barney, who thankfully wasn't barking at every Tom Dick and Harry that walked past them) went into the Ranger's Stop to rent a canoe. They wound up with a bright blue one, although Cassandra didn't mind, and she didn't have any trouble at all putting her life-jacket on. As they slid the boat into the water and climbed inside, she couldn't help but laugh at the sight of Barney. The dog was lying flat as a board at the bottom of the canoe, nails sunk deep into the fiberglass as he shook uncontrollably. Even when Barb tried to pick him up, the mongrel simply refused to budge.

"Never mind him," Barb decided as they used their paddles to direct the canoe away from shore, toward open water. "He's never liked water. You should see him when I try to give him a bath."

They paddled around, turning a great many circles because Barb couldn't steer for the life of her. After much frustration, the woman gave up and demanded to sit in front, informing Cassandra as they precariously changed seats, "It's not as easy as it looks!"

Despite the warning, it took Cassandra all of ten minutes to figure things out, much to Barb's vexation. It wasn't that hard, really, especially when one was observant enough to discreetly watch how other lake-goers were handling their canoes. As it turned out, the mechanics of canoeing were actually pretty simple: paddle forward to go forward, backward to slow down or reverse; keep a paddle on each side to go straight; both paddles on the right side at the same time meant the canoe turned left, while both paddles on the left turned it right; the longer the stroke, the further the canoe went, so subtle changes in direction only required small adjustment strokes; if the paddles were dipped into the water in unison, there was less drag, so the canoe moved faster and smoother while requiring far less energy on the paddlers' part.

She tried to explain all of this to Barb, but the woman just didn't seem fit for canoeing. Her timing was way off, and she had a hard time remembering the "left for right and right for left" rule, which meant that even with Cassandra steering, they ended up going the wrong direction more often than not. Not that it mattered. They both had a fantastic time, and were still chuckling at Barb's complete ineptitude when they finally pulled up at the beach to return the canoe.

"Good thing I'm better at driving than whatever the hell that was," Barb said dryly as she pried Barney from the bottom of the canoe. Cassandra sniggered, both at the woman's comment and the fact that her mongrel dog was rigid in his owner's arms, eyes wide as saucers.

They cooked up the hotdogs and sat at the picnic table, facing the water, to eat them. Then they divided the cake. Barb had bought a small one meant for two, so nothing went to waste. It was chocolate with white frosting, just as Cassandra requested, but there were words written on it as well in bright yellow icing:

Happy Birthday

Cassandra!

As Barb handed Cassandra her half of the cake, she said with a smile, "I know its two months late, but happy birthday sweetheart."

Cassandra had never been happier.

They sat on the beach for a while after they ate, sunning themselves and discussing meaningless pleasantries while they digested. Then they went for a hike.

There were three trails around Little Lake. They all began at the same trailhead, but about three hundred feet along there was a fork. According to the wooden trail signs, one path was a long, five-mile hike that skirted the rim of the lake, the second path was a short, "kid-friendly" hike on flat ground through the woods that covered less than a mile, and the third and final trail lead away from the lake, up the river, towards the falls.

That was the path she and Barb choose. They took their time, enjoying the peace and quiet and, for Cassandra at least, the new sights and smells. As she drew a long, deep breath, Barb asked her, "What's it like?"

"Hm?"

"Having that rabbit spirit's senses, how different is it? Like do these woods smell completely different to you, or are the same smells just stronger now than they would be to any other human?"

"A bit of both. I can smell all the same things you can, but they come in a lot stronger, and I can also pick up a whole bunch of things you can't. It's the same with my hearing."

"So what does this area smell like to you?"

"It's…earthy," Cassandra said after a moment. "The soil is really rich here. There's quite a bit of wood and leaf decay, probably leftover from the fall before the snow buried it, and I'm pretty sure this area was flooded recently. I can smell the wind, too: it's clean, fresh, but betrays so many secrets…" She trailed off as she drew another long breath. "There's some wild strawberries somewhere over there—" she gestured to indicate the appropriate thicket "—and there's quite a few birds. I can hear them…and smell them. I'm pretty sure the ones I can smell are water birds. They have a slightly muddier scent."

"Herons, maybe, or wood ducks," Barb guessed. She seemed in awe of Cassandra's abilities. "That's amazing."

Cassandra shrugged. "It's really not that special. Any dog can do it." Barb opened her mouth, but before she could protest, Cassandra quietly added, "And it's a pain to always overhear everything people say about you."

Barb's mouth shut with a snap. They walked for a few moments in silence before she decided to speak again.

"I'm sorry, Cassandra. I honestly didn't think about it like that."

She shrugged again. "You get used to it after a while."

"That's not something you should ever have to get used to, Cassandra."

They lapsed into silence, but the lull in conversation was much shorter this time.

"When you…you know…do what you have to do, will you end up losing those heightened senses?"

"Yes, unless I pick the rabbit spirit."

"Which you won't, I'm guessing."

Cassandra scoffed. "Of course not. I'd hate to have his job. I don't think anybody except him would ever be able to put up with it, let alone enjoy it."

"Do you…" Barb hesitated, but pressed on when Cassandra cast her a glance that clearly encouraged her to continue. "Do you know yet…who you'll pick? Have you decided?"

Cassandra stared down at her sneakers. "I can't pick," she said at last. "It's too hard."

"Killing is never easy, _especially_ when you're just a child."

"That's not… It's just that…"

She didn't realize she'd stopped until she saw that Barb had stopped, too. The woman was now a few paces ahead of her, and when she turned to look back Barb saw that Cassandra's expression was a jumble of emotions. It was a bit strange, seeing Cassandra so open, but at the same time Barb was glad for it. Children were never meant to be shut off from the world, and it was about damn time Cassandra found someone with whom she could confide in confidence.

The fact that that someone was Barb herself was a truly astounding and humbling experience.

With a sigh that was equal parts weariness, sadness and frustration, Cassandra admitted, "I don't _want_ to be a spirit. The spirit world is a cornucopia of selfishness and deceit and arrogance."

"But…?" Barb prompted.

"But…being a human…it's the same. People are selfish and arrogant and they're self-serving liars, so what does it matter if I become a spirit? At least if I'm a spirit, people will know me and remember me, right?"

"Why do you say that?" Barb whispered. She was clearly dreading the answer, but had asked the question anyway because she seemed to sense that this was something Cassandra needed to get off her chest.

"Issitoq told me that part of the reason why he chose me was because he felt I would be okay with leaving my humanity behind since nobody…since nobody would miss me."

Barb drew in a sharp breath.

"He told me," Cassandra continued, her voice quivering ever so slightly, "that if he _hadn't_ chosen me…that if he hadn't given me my magic…I would've died a long time ago, at my mom's house, and that nobody would've ever mourned me because nobody would've known enough about me to care."

Barb took three long strides and swept Cassandra up into a tight embrace. Crushed against her body, the girl whispered into the woman's orange t-shirt, "My parents don't care about me. My teachers only pretended to care when they had to because it was their job. I've never had friends…nobody's ever liked me, not even a little. Nobody except you."

Barb held her even tighter, threatening to squeeze the very air out of her body. Head bent low, she whispered into Cassandra's ear, "I would miss you. I _will_ miss you. When you go…when they force you to leave…I'll miss you every goddamned day."

"I'll come see you," Cassandra promised. "I'll come visit you whenever I can, even if you stop believing."

"I won't stop. Even if I'm a hundred and fifty and crippled by Alzheimer's, I'll still believe in you. I'll have your name tattooed onto my fucking forehead if that's what it takes to make myself remember."

In spite of the intensity of the moment, Cassandra shook with quiet laughter. "I'd like to see that."

"Oh, I bet you would," Barb replied with a small laugh of her own. She let her go and stepped back, although she reached out with one hand to brush a lock of hair out of Cassandra's face.

"Just try to remember," she advised the girl, "that even if you hate them, the spirit you will replace is a person too. What they really think and feel and believe may surprise you, just as I surprised you and you continue to surprise me."

Cassandra nodded in understanding, and they continued on their way.

The waterfall was stunning, just as Barb promised it would be. Barney had to be carried to the lookout platform, as the tiny little bastard had taken one look at the rushing water and made a mad dash in the opposite direction. He quivered and buried his nose in the crook of Barb's elbow, making a big show of looking downright pathetic. Barb shook her head at him and grumbled about him being "A big fat baby," but there was definitely a fine note of affection coating the words. That dog was, indeed, in a spectacular love-hate relationship with his owner.

They got to spend about fifteen minutes or so admiring the falls before a whole hoard of people suddenly appeared from the woods. It looked like an extended family, and they were all talking _very_ loudly. Barb didn't even have to ask; the look of pained annoyance on Cassandra's face was enough to cause her to give a meaningful jerk of the head, and the pair of them (plus Barney, who still refused to walk) headed back to the lakeside. With Barney safely tucked under their picnic table, curled up like a pathetic ball of brown fur, Barb and Cassandra cooled off from their hike with a nice relaxing swim. Barb was rather impressed when Cassandra confided in her that the main reason she could swim so well was because her flying magic allowed her to make her body lighter, thus she became more buoyant.

"I always wondered why you were such a water child. The answer finally reveals itself!" Barb declared with mock formality, which left Cassandra grinning.

When they were done swimming, they dried off on the beach before packing up and heading for the car. It was just past six o' clock, and although it was still rather bright out the sun was finally starting to sink. The few weekend campers at Little Lake had begun to light their evening fires, both to supplement the fading light and to help stave off the torrent of mosquitoes that were bound to appear once it grew dark.

As Cassandra finished loading the rest of the food into the back of the hatchback, Barb suddenly appeared at her elbow, the mysterious package she'd tucked under the back seat held in her hands. Cassandra eyed it with a mixture of curiosity and distrust as she closed the trunk of the car and turned to face Barb fully. It wasn't that she didn't trust _Barb_ …she just didn't have the best track record with birthday presents.

"Happy birthday, Cassandra," Barb said quietly as she handed over the present. It wasn't wrapped, so pulling aside the dark blue plastic bag was all it took to reveal what was inside.

It was a plain white box, about eight inches long and three inches wide. She separated the lid of the box from the base, and her jaw dropped.

"They're charms," Barb explained as Cassandra continued to stare dumbly at the contents of the box. "I collected them when I was younger, had this great big necklace full of them, but the chain broke quite a while ago so they've been sitting in my jewelry box. The shopping center we stopped at this morning has a good jewelry department, so I picked up a heavier chain that can withstand wear and tear. You can wear it as a bracelet now if you want, plus there's extra space so you can add or rearrange as you wish."

Cassandra still couldn't speak. She reached into the box and lifted out the strand of charms. The cable-style chain was, indeed, quite sturdy—an impeccably polished stainless steel, dotted along its length by eleven unique charms. Barb pointed to each one individually and explained its purpose.

"This is an ankh. It's a symbol of life, and the stone at its center is hematite. It's supposed to protect you against negativity, keeping you well-grounded. I got that one when I was a teenager—special ordered it from a friend of mine's mother, who owned a custom jewelry store. I was still in foster care then, and when I was flipping through the pages of her order books, it just…spoke to me, you know? It doesn't just encourage you to live, but to live _well_ , without being weighed down by pettiness and selfishness and the sheer apathy of your own mother."

Cassandra's gaze finally shifted, lifting from the gift to stare at Barb. The woman smiled at her before continuing on to the next charm, which looked like a circle with three leaf-like shapes crossing its edges to touch points at the very center.

"This one is a symbol of protection. It's pretty common, as far as charms go, but that doesn't lessen its value in my mind. My brother got it for me, to commemorate the day I left foster care. He'd seen me with the ankh when we had court hearings and apparently decided that 'A little more insurance doesn't hurt.'"

She grinned at the memory.

"This one," she fingered a bead engraved with words in a language that Cassandra didn't recognize, "is for good luck. Got it from my brother when I sat for my college entrance exams. He said I needed all the help I could get, can you believe that? He also said the clover was just too clichéd, and I can't blame him, but I guess it still worked because I passed.

"This turtle here is my spirit animal, but I think he'll do well to serve you too. He's a wise old creature, who stands for determination, persistence, and emotional strength.

"These three encourage truth: this first one is to inspire you to speak the truth, this one encourages you to hear the truth, and the third helps you to see the truth. Those are all very important, especially for an unruly teenager who never shut up and would lie over the stupidest of things."

She glanced up at Cassandra. "You'll need these," she murmured, "more so than ever now that you're being forced to make this decision."

Cassandra nodded, but didn't dare speak. She was waiting for Barb to continue explaining the meaning of the charms.

"This bead is set with agate, which boosts strength and confidence and fosters courage. This tiny one here is a crystal, which offers the wearer clarity of mind, and this one is made of citrine, which, among many other things, raises self-esteem.

"And this bead," she said as she reached the eleventh and final charm, "is set with black obsidian, which guards your spirit, strengthens it, and helps you to face your greatest fears." She swallowed thickly before finishing in a whisper, "I got it a few years ago, after Omar left me."

Barb placed her hands on Cassandra's wrists and slowly pressed on them until they, along with the chain of charms she held, lay against the girl's chest. With utmost seriousness in her burning green eyes, Barb said to her:

"Let these be your strength, your guide, whenever your path grows dark or weary. Whether you live to be a thousand or ten thousand years old, keep them close, look at them often, use them to remind yourself of all that you are and what you deserve. Use them to remember me, long after I'm gone, and know that no matter what anyone else does or says to you, I will always be there to support and love you."

Cassandra's eyes filled with tears. She admitted in a whisper, "Nobody's ever said that to me before."

Barb didn't have to ask what she meant. She knew _exactly_ which words Cassandra was referring to.

"I know," she murmured, leaning down to rest her forehead against her ward's. "And I wish I could tell it to you every single day for the rest of time…but I can't. I can't because you're going away from me and you're going to live forever while I grow old and die. But this will carry my heart with you, so that I will be at your side no matter where on this earth you go."

Without even thinking about it, Cassandra put her arms around Barb and hugged her tight. Barb hugged her back, then stepped back a little so she could help Cassandra wrap the bracelet around her wrist. It looped around her arm three times, leaving just enough give for it to be comfortable without turning into a nuisance. Listening to the charms clatter quietly against one another, feeling the soft weight of the chain on her arm, was oddly comforting to Cassandra.

"Good?" Barb asked in question to the fit.

She nodded. "It's perfect."

Barb smiled, knowing that she meant far more than just the fit of the bracelet.

They drove home in comfortable silence. Cassandra dozed, feeling blissfully full and content and, for a precious short while, free of the burden of what she was doomed to do in just six nights' time. Even Barney was quiet, sound asleep on the rear seat with his legs stuck up in the air.

She finally roused as they pulled into the shared driveway at the duplex. Barb turned off the ignition and made to open her door, but stopped when Cassandra suddenly flung out an arm and seized the sleeve of her t-shirt.

"What?" the blonde asked, brows drawn together in confusion.

Brown eyes fixed upon something that Barb could not see, Cassandra warned, "Don't get out."

* * *

It was evening before Bunnymund emerged from his room. A hush fell over the house as the other Guardians looked at him. Despite the obvious dangers of lingering together for so long, none of them had wanted to leave while Bunny was in such a worrying state. The Pooka rarely got this emotional, and when he did…well, as Jack knew from personal experience twenty-one Easters ago, it tended not to end well.

"Bunny," North started to say in hushed tones, rising from his seat and lifting his massive hands as if to embrace the Pooka. "My friend—"

"We need to stop him," Bunny said. The fur of his face was matted from crying, but there were no more tears in his eyes. They were stony with resolution.

"Morsoi?" Tooth questioned nervously.

Jack said nothing, but he was just as wary as Tooth of picking a fight with the ancient spirit. Not only was Morsoi quite formidable on his own, he had an army of sprites at his beck-and-call.

"Not him," Bunny growled. "Pitch."

"Uh…" Jack said slowly, "how'd you come to that conclusion?" When those emerald eyes fixed upon him, Jack actually flinched a little under the intensity of that stare.

"This wasn't some accident or lousy coincidence, mate. It was a direct attack on one of our oldest believers. Either Morsoi hurt Sophie in order to help Pitch directly, meaning they're allies, or he did it to help himself 'cause he, like Pitch, sees the rite as an opportunity to finally be rid of us Guardians. Either way," the Pooka ground out between clenched teeth, "this is Pitch's fault."

"Bunny," North repeated, a distinct edge of caution to the Pooka's name that time. "Hurting Pitch will not help Sophie."

"No, but it'll keep Jamie and the others safe. What if Sophie was just the first, eh? What if Pitch sent Morsoi after her—our _friend_ —just to throw us off while he tries to take away our belief like last time?"

North couldn't argue with that, so he shut his mouth, a pensive look overtaking his features.

"We can't wait any longer, Sandy," Bunny informed Sandy, who'd been roused from his sleep the moment the Pooka's painted door had swung open. The little yellow man regarded the even tinier Guardian of Hope with utmost seriousness as Bunny continued to argue his point. "If we don't move to stop Pitch now, it'll be too late by the time the rite comes to an end. It won't matter who Fisher picks if Sophie and Jamie and all the ankle biters forget about us."

"This just doesn't make sense," Tooth mumbled to herself. Jack turned to look at her, but he seemed to be the only one paying attention, as the others were still debating. "Why would Pitch _or_ Morsoi go after Sophie? Even if she was forbidden from contacting us, Sophie still had direct ties to us and to Cassandra; goading her into losing her belief would equate to interfering in the rite."

"But Morsoi wasn't punished for what he did," Jack pointed out.

"No, which means Issitoq _agrees_ with what he did. But…why?"

"Maybe there's some rule somewhere that says Morsoi can do whatever he wants to us as long as Pitch asks him to." It was a lame explanation, but it was the only one Jack could come up with.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't explain why Morsoi would ally himself with Pitch in the first place. We've never had any quarrel with him in the past, he does his job and makes a point of keeping out of others' affairs…apart from spying on everybody," she added in a dark mutter. But she quickly shook herself and continued, "Anyway, it just doesn't make sense. After all this time, what does Morsoi look to gain by destroying us? In fact…why would he bother getting involved in this matter at all?"

Jack scowled. He knew the answer to _that_ question. "Because he thinks it's fun. He's treating the rite like a game."

"Maybe he does feel that way," Tooth admitted with her own frown of disapproval, "but that still doesn't explain why he would risk reprimand from Issitoq by dancing around all of the rite's intricate rules. He's arrogant, yes, but unlike spirits like Gerissen, he doesn't allow that arrogance to cloud his judgment. There _has_ to be a reason for his actions other than simple boredom."

Jack considered that for a moment. And…he had to admit…if he pushed aside his anger and grief and indignation over Sophie's loss of belief and focused _logically_ on what had transpired back in Burgess…Tooth had a point.

Before he could open his mouth and say something about it, though, Bunny's sharp voice snapped both Jack and Tooth from their private little discussion.

"Oi, pay attention."

The topic of Morsoi's true motivation temporarily laid aside, both spirits flew closer to the others in order to hear Bunny' plan.

"North, Tooth, Sandy, you three head over to Burgess. Act like you're still fighting, like you're putting up with each other only 'cause you heard about Jack being there. Jack's still 'missing', yeah, so we can work with that. Your presence will lure Pitch out, just like we planned, and once you rile him up and get him to attack—Jack, you come out and blast him."

"Not to hurt him," North interrupted firmly. "Remember promise: make Pitch run, but do not hurt him."

Bunny rolled his eyes, but agreed readily. "Yeah, yeah, we remember, North."

"Just make sure you don't get too close to Fisher's place," Jack put in, looking to Sandy, Tooth and North. "If she sees or hears us going at it, who knows what she'll do."

"She'll side with Pitch for sure," Bunny said, which for some reason earned him a disapproving glare from Sandy.

 _And if Morsoi is there,_ the yellow man added with his symbols, still staring darkly at Bunnymund, _do not attack him._

Remembering their conversation from earlier, Tooth and Jack shared a look as the fairy put in, "Ally of Pitch or not, we cannot give him excuse to swarm Burgess with sprites."

"It'll cover the town with blight," Jack said, voice thick with worry.

No matter his ultimate goal, if Morsoi decided to unleash a sickness—or, worse, a full-on plague—upon the town, things would spiral out of control almost instantly. Even if the illness was a relatively minor one, the kids and their still-developing immune systems wouldn't stand a chance. Jack's stomach clenched at the very thought of such an epidemic. Morsoi had toned it back quite a bit since the Black Plague (although the swarms of locusts that hit the North American Plains in 1874 and '75, the Spanish Flu outbreak of 1918, and more recent epidemic deaths were nothing to sneer at), but even so, there was no way to guarantee he wouldn't revert back to his old ways. One or two sprites on their own were relatively harmless unless provoked, but when their master summoned them and they began to swarm, the repercussions were unavoidable.

"Here's hoping he isn't looking to pick a fight with us," Jack murmured. He didn't even realize he'd said the words aloud until North answered him.

"Yes," he rumbled quietly. "Here's hoping."

"When do we do this, then?" Tooth asked, and Bunny responded almost at once.

"Tomorrow night, as soon as the sun sets."

But before Tooth could so much as nod her understanding, Sandy shook his own head firmly, refuting the Pooka's response.

"What do you mean no?" Bunny said incredulously. "The sooner the better! We can't wait around on this, mate."

With his sand symbols, Sandy told him, _Not then. The night after._

Jack frowned. "Isn't Sunday night just as good as Monday?"

"Yeah, what are we waiting for?" Bunny huffed, tiny fists resting on his hips as he regarded Sandy with a scowl.

Sandy rolled his eyes at the display before stating calmly, _Cassandra has only just gained her guardian's understanding. We owe them this time together._

"We ain't gonna bother _them_ ," Bunny grumbled, but Tooth disagreed.

"If Issitoq is truly upset with us over fighting with Pitch, and that's why he initiated the rite, our actions may very well spur him into pushing the final act even closer than it already is." Her lips drew thin, but she lifted her chin. "I agree with Sandy. They deserve a couple of days to themselves."

"Besides, will give Morsoi time to leave Burgess, yes?" North pointed out reasonably. "We do not know for certain he is ally of Pitch. If he's not, he might leave. Let's give him time to do that."

Jack was surprised to hear that North, who hadn't taken part in the conversation he and Tooth had earlier, seemed just as uncertain of Morsoi's intentions as they were. He said nothing of it, though, as he didn't want to stir Bunny up any more than he already was.

"Why do I always get outvoted on these things?" Bunny grumbled under his breath, glaring off at something unseen in the far corner of the room.

Okay, maybe he _would_ rile him up. Jack grinned. "It's because you're so small," he teased, earning him the customary Australian-accented response.

"Oh, rack off."


	24. Darker Things

Author's Note:

Hello everyone! I'm going to try and keep this note short since this chapter is SUPER long (10,200 words...) O.O I really wanted to cut it in half, but there was just no logical way for me to do it so I kept it as-is. For future reference, though, if you guys would please let me know whether you prefer longer or shorter chapters (or simply don't have a preference), that would be great. :)

 **Silversun XD:** Maybe your gut feeling will turn out to be right...maybe not. ;)

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Yeah, this fic is definitely on the darker/sadder side, but hey, life isn't all unicorns and butterflies. It definitely feels wonderful knowing you like it so much. Thanks for the praise! *distance hug*

 **Momochan77:** Luckily, you're actually going to get quite few answers in this chapter.

 **Skyress1:** Yeah, Bunny is a bit complex in this fic, but I think that's mostly because it's a super emotional roller coaster, and as we saw in the movie he doesn't tend to deal with negative emotions very well. He straight up flipped out on Jack when, come on, there were _four_ of them there, they couldn't save even _one_ measly egg? Talk about shoving all the blame onto others. But anyway, I digress. From that scene, it seemed to me that when things get tough emotionally, Bunny tends to react illogically, and even a bit aggressively, and so that's what I'm drawing from to develop his character in this fic. When he's calm, he's actually pretty logical, but when he isn't...well, as you pointed out, he's hard to understand sometimes. Even Jack was like "um...okay..."

 **PhoenixFantastic:** Welcome, it's always good to hear from someone new! Now I don't want to sound like I'm brushing you off or anything, but I really don't understand what you meant by there being blasphemy in the last chapter. Were you talking about a particular word Barb had said to Cassandra when they were discussing how Barb would never forget her, or were you talking about the bracelet? Or was there something else? If you could clarify, I would be more than happy to address the issue either in my next note or in private messaging.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** OMG, you read _Starfire_?! *runs back and forth like a giddy idiot*. Yay, I'm so happy you liked it! I'm a bit disappointed I haven't been able to work on any new one-shots for that 'world', but between my new job, my kids and my college class starting up on Monday, I literally have time for one fic at a time, and this one won out by a landslide. But I'll get back to them eventually, so here's hoping you like those too. :) As for this fic, like I said to **Momochan** **77** there are actually some answers in this chapter so hold on to your hats. :D

Please enjoy, everyone (even if it _is_ super long)...

* * *

Barb tried not to look alarmed, but failed miserably. "What's wrong?"

Cassandra just repeated, "Don't get out."

Barb couldn't see what she was looking at, but went rigid in her seat when she saw Barney. The Chihuahua was perched on the console that separated the two front seats, every muscle taut and upper lip quivering ever so slightly as he growled deep inside his chest, low and ominous, eyes fixed upon something through the windshield. Barb had never heard a noise quite like that from his tiny body before, and it didn't help her nerves to know that _he_ could see what Cassandra could while she could not.

"What is it?" she whispered, peering through the windshield. They were looking up at the duplex roof, so Barb figured it might be another one of those gross eyeballs, but no matter how hard she looked she couldn't see a thing. "Is it a spirit? Someone you know?"

"It's not a spirit," Cassandra answered quietly without averting her gaze from the black shapes perched upon Barb's roof. "I think they're servants."

" _They_?"

"There's four of them."

Four that she could see, anyway. Her screaming sixth sense warned her that there were probably more nearby. Cassandra studied the creatures carefully. They were almost wraith-like in appearance, with legless lower halves that billowed and curled at random, as if buffeted by a nonexistent wind. They had very long, bone-thin arms that they used to drag themselves along, elbows stuck sharply into the air, large hands slapping against the duplex roof (a noise that Barb couldn't hear but Barney obviously could, what with his constant twitching and snarling). They had impossibly long fingers to match their ugly arms, which gripped tight to the shingles as they paced back and forth. Their eyes were a sickly yellow, and they stared down at the silver hatchback with unblinking intensity. One soon caught and held Cassandra's gaze and, still staring deep into her eyes, crawled down the roof until it hung over the edge, hands pressed against the siding to hold itself erect as it tilted its ugly head ever so slightly toward Barb's front door.

Cassandra's understood its meaning perfectly. Her stomach clenched, but she refused to flinch or even blink, holding that monster's stare steadily.

"What are we going to do?" Barb was muttering, still trying vainly to see what Cassandra was staring at. "Wait until they leave?"

"No," Cassandra replied just as quietly. "They're waiting for us."

"The servants? What do they want with us?"

Her face grim, Cassandra finally turned her gaze from the spirit servants up on the rooftop to meet Barb's worried green eyes. "Their master is here. He's inside."

Barb's hands clutched the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white, the color matching the sudden pallor of her face.

Cassandra unbuckled her seat belt. "Stay here."

Snapped from her terrified state, Barb flung out her arm and snatched at Cassandra, gasping a terrified and half-desperate, "No!"

Cassandra paused with her hand on the door handle and looked at Barb. "I have my magic," she pointed out reasonably, "and Issitoq's protection as the arbiter of the rite. I'll be fine."

"Is it Pitch Black?"

"Does it matter?"

"Is it him?"

After a brief hesitation, during which she wondered if it really made a difference to Barb if it was Pitch or not, Cassandra shook her head. Barb let out a quiet breath (when had she started to hold it, exactly?), studied Cassandra's face for a moment longer, then released her sleeve. Albeit very, _very_ reluctantly.

Cassandra exited the car alone, closing the door firmly behind her before going up the steps to the front door. She realized then she didn't have her key, and she wasn't about to go back to ask Barb for hers. So after a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, she sank into the shadows and entered the house.

She reappeared in the living room, where the servants' master was waiting. He was studying the pictures on Barb's wall, but as soon as she showed herself he turned to face her with a broad smile on his face.

"Ah," the surprisingly short spirit said. "You must be the arbiter. Fisher, I believe your name was."

"Cassandra to anyone who isn't an asshole," Cassandra said coolly.

The barest trace of amusement lit his odd-colored eyes. Gray laced with acid green. "Cassandra it is, then," he said amicably. "I am Morsoi, the spirit of pestilence and plague."

"I don't remember you from Ikiaq." She would've remembered a spirit like him, who was so very human in his appearance it had to be an illusion. There was just no way the spirit of _pestilence_ look like that, like a businessman whose short stature would make even Napoleon feel proud of his own genetics. Cassandra was only twelve and she was already nearly as tall as he was.

"I was not there," Morsoi replied smoothly, "although a few of my sprites attended in my stead. Unlike some in the spirit world, I do not shirk my duties at the first sign of entertainment."

"Then why are you here?" There was something very off about this whole situation, but Cassandra couldn't quite put her finger on what that something was. She didn't feel threatened, and yet there was this ominous feeling creeping up her spine. She wasn't scared—she was never scared—and yet there was this tension in her body as if her fight-or-flight response was gearing up to kick in at any given moment.

Morsoi's smile with a truly peculiar combination of cunning and calm, reminding Cassandra quite starkly of how a predatory animal looked as it quietly observed another creature while debating whether or not to pounce.

"I have come to strike an accord with you."

"An accord?"

"An agreement. An understanding. A mutually suitable arrangement—"

"I know what an accord is," Cassandra growled low. "I'm not stupid."

"No. No you are not."

They stood in silence for a moment, he watching her while she glared right back at him. Then he drew a quiet breath and made his intentions plain:

"There is a problem arising within the world, Cassandra Fisher, a very serious problem. Solving it swiftly would be of benefit to us all, and I would ask your help in attaining that goal."

Cassandra eyed him warily. "A problem that you cannot deal with alone?"

"At the moment, I am quite sufficient at handling the situation, but there is only one of me. If left to my own devices, should the issue get out of hand I fear I might just…overreact," he said, drawing out the last word in a dark whisper that only added further menace to the brief but fierce acid green glow of his eyes.

Cassandra didn't have to ask what he meant; being the spirit of pestilence and plague was more than enough answer. So she stated instead, "And an overreaction of that nature would earn you Issitoq's wrath, which I take it you'd rather avoid."

"Indeed. If I am to meet my fate, sating the ire of the spirit of judgment is not what I would consider a pleasurable end."

"Is death ever pleasurable?" Cassandra asked coldly.

"Sometimes," Morsoi purred. "When one begs for death, finally reaching that state is the greatest joy and relief."

Cassandra's jaw clenched. She was glad she'd forced Barb to stay behind in the car; she didn't think the blonde would be able to stand hearing this dark spirit speak of death in such a way without completely losing her temper. What had happened with Omar was still too raw for her.

Folding her arms across her chest, Cassandra asked in as cool a voice as she could manage, given her rising indignation, "So what is this problem and why are you asking _me_ for help? I have enough to deal with already."

"Yes, I know. That is precisely why I came to you, you see. Being the arbiter of the rite, you have a great deal on your plate, far more than one little child should handle. What's more, being trapped between warring spirits has given you a certain…perspective that is unmatched by any other creature alive.

"You see," he explained in a soft voice, that smile still spread wide across his deceptively handsome face, "unlike the vast majority of the spirit world, I have the capacity to understand that having adult believers is a very, _very_ dangerous thing."

The fingers resting on her folded arms stiffened, although Cassandra didn't dare reveal any more reaction than that and fought to keep her expression completely devoid of any emotion save strained patience.

Morsoi continued as if unaware of the growing tension in her body, telling her, "It is quite all right for children to believe. Their naïve faith provides the spirits of the light with strength and existence, while their eventual maturity ensures they will forget in due time, thus leaving their minds and hearts open to more…vile thoughts and pursuits."

"Which is when the rest of you come into the picture."

"Precisely. The light have their children, we of the dark have our adults. They may not believe in us, but it matters not; there are more than enough wicked thoughts and wretched emotions coiling around their hearts to keep us alive."

Morsoi scowled. "Such a cycle is not only natural, it is necessary, and therein lies the problem. If children were to stop losing their belief, the world would become overwhelmed with believers, and the Guardians, bloated with power, would become a very real threat to anyone who does not adhere to their narrow-minded morals. They want a world filled with light and happiness, and humans too dream of life without anger or fear or pain, a _utopia_ , if you will, but in reality such a thing is impossible to attain. Far from wonderful and glorious, a world without negativity would lead humans to live lives filled with boldness and arrogance and self-love. They would become so focused on their own perfection they would lose sight of everything else that exists. And do you think the Guardians would do anything to stop that? Do you think they, who are sworn to protect their believers, would _ever_ raise hand or paw or sword to stop them from becoming so pathetic?

"But that is not the only possible outcome of this." Morsoi's green-streaked gray eyes narrowed. "Such would occur only _if_ the dark spirits chose to do nothing, which I can assure you will never happen. What will almost certainly take place instead is that they, upon realizing that adults too can believe, will start to seek believers of their own. Then the so-called 'good spirits', those who stand proudly in the light, will in turn gather believers of their own in order to combat the darkness and give support to the Guardians. It will become a wretched competition, a perverse arms race, just to see who can collect the most humans and amass the greatest amount of strength. But it will not stop there. Oh no. The human believers, the _adult_ believers, who have freedoms and abilities children can only dream of and access to weapons— _powerful_ weapons—will then join the cause at the behest of their spirit leaders. It will become a bloodbath, Cassandra Fisher. Humans and spirits all over the world will slaughter each other simply to prove who is the greatest."

He inhaled sharply and exhaled just as quickly, a sort of angry huff.

"I will not let it come to that," he said, his voice now very cold. "I will do _whatever_ it takes to prevent such an end."

"For someone who was amused by the thought of people begging for death just a few minutes ago, you're awfully angry about this," Cassandra pointed out, choosing her words carefully so as to make her point without coming across as insolent or instigating.

"I have walked this earth for four thousand years. In that time I have seen and caused more deaths than can ever be counted, and as consequence I have become quite comfortable with the prospect of finite life. What I have also seen is just how vile human beings can become when goaded by hatred and greed, having witnessed more wars and genocides than I care to remember. I was amused by them at first—seeing all the new and creative ways mortals could hurt and destroy one other was vastly entertaining for a time—but over the course of millennia the constant bloodshed has grown quite tedious. No other spirit, save for Issitoq and the Man in the Moon, has ever laid eyes upon so much destruction; none have ever existed long enough to do so. Therefore no one else has the capacity to truly understand the precariousness of the present situation. Right now the adult believers are few, but in time—a generation, if not less, next to nothing for a spirit—the number will explode. Those few will convince a few, and those few will convince a few more, until the majority of the world's populace can see and believe. Best to snip it in the bud before the cycle breaks and everything spirals out of our control."

"'Our' control? You truly expect me to help you with this?"

"You will soon join the spirit world, Cassandra Fisher. Whether you choose Pitch Black or one of the Guardians is of little consequence to me, for you will end up being just as irrevocably bound to the balance as the rest of us. Nevertheless, your being the arbiter gives you the distinct advantage of an outsider's perspective, allowing you to see things other spirits are wholly blind to."

"Like the danger of keeping adult believers."

Morsoi's smile finally returned as he said with something akin to delight, "Precisely."

"There's just one problem: what do you plan to do with those who already believe? You can't just make them forget."

His smile became a cunning smirk. "There are ways."

"Yeah? How? Issitoq's the only one who can—"

Cassandra stopped mid-sentence, her eyes growing wide.

"Coach Sophie," she whispered.

"Hm?" Morsoi uttered, looking amused.

"Sophie Bennett. Issitoq took her memory the other night as punishment for speaking to me about the rite." Cassandra's arms unfolded as she glared daggers at the spirit of pestilence. "You goaded her, didn't you? You goaded Coach into talking to me so she'd forget."

"Why does everyone say that like they're accusing me of something terrible?" Morsoi said rhetorically, his every word dripping mock confusion.

Before Cassandra could answer, a voice sounded from behind her.

"What about the Bennetts?"

She froze. In front of her, Morsoi's distinctly colored eyes shifted to peer over her shoulder, narrowing as they honed in on Barb.

"What are you doing here?" Cassandra hissed at her, not daring to take her eyes off the spirit before her. She heard Barney growl; Barb must have carried him into the house with her. "I told you to wait in the car."

"I thought about it," Barb admitted, although her voice was a bit cold; Cassandra could almost imagine her studying the room carefully, trying to pick out the spirit present even though she didn't know nearly enough about him to believe and see. "But if you really thought I was going to let you deal with this on your own then you don't know me all that well. You're only twelve, Cassandra, although it seems everyone keeps conveniently forgetting that."

"This is not your mother," Morsoi stated curtly, watching Barb with calculating eyes that saw far too much.

"She's my guardian," Cassandra acknowledged.

"She does not seem afraid or worried that you speak to thin air," he observed. Those eyes narrowed further still, until they were reduced to mere slits. "She knows."

Cassandra's arms dropped as her hands clenched into fists; dark shadows rose up on the walls around them, responding to her rising anger. Glaring at Morsoi, she growled, "Stay away from her."

"What's going on?" Barb asked. Fear colored her voice, and with her keen ears Cassandra heard her back up a step. "Is he threatening me?"

The gray of Morsoi's eyes faded away as the green bands in them expanded, engulfing his irises until they burned like hot acid. Furious, he hissed through his teeth, "If she believes then she is just as much of a threat as the Bennetts!"

"She did not want to believe, she was dragged into it because of me. Do you really think I could get away with sneaking out every night to deal with Pitch and the Guardians without her noticing something?"

His lips drew back, baring his teeth in a silent snarl. His face contorted disgustingly as his humanoid mask began to fall away, revealing his true image piece by rotten piece. Just as the shadows responded instinctively to Cassandra's emotions, it seemed Morsoi was wholly unable to maintain his pristine, gentlemanly appearance whilst a cauldron of rage boiled inside of him.

"It matters not how she came to believe. She must be dealt with!"

He lifted his hand. Cassandra's own shot into the air, shadows swarming to her call. Two distinct magical auras swelled, filling the room with power so immense it was very nearly tangible.

Yet both of them were beaten to the punch. With a spectacular snarl, Barney launched himself out of Barb's arms. The woman shouted his name, but the dog ignored her, the entirety of his attention fixed upon Morsoi. All Cassandra saw was a flash of brown as the dog leapt past her, and Morsoi…Morsoi's eyes _widened_ and he actually took a step _back_ just as the dog crashed into him, knocking him to the floor.

…only he wasn't a dog anymore. Barney had transformed into a massive, black, wolf-like creature with four narrow eyes that glowed blue-white in the semi-darkness of the room, like four points of lighting in the depths of a thundercloud. His fang-filled maw dripped hot saliva right into Morsoi's face as he roared a warning. Morsoi jerked away from the disgusting white strands and uttered a truly bizarre noise that was somewhere between a bat's chitter and a spider's hiss, but the dog-like spirit was wholly unaffected by the obvious threat. When the spirit of pestilence and plague attempted to extricate himself from beneath the other's imposing form, one enormous paw came down hard to crush into the middle of his chest, effectively pinning him to the carpet.

As she watched it all unfold, Cassandra was forced to step back, out of the way of the creature's long tail (which seemed to fill the entire room as it flicked back and forth in restless agitation). She cast a brief but piercing look at Barb, who was backed into a corner with her hands pressed over her mouth. Her eyes practically bulged from her head as she stared in dumbfounded horror at the wolf-like spirit crouched in the middle of her living room.

Based upon her reaction and body language, Cassandra quickly deduced, _She had no idea about this either._

Satisfied, she turned her gaze back to the spirits on the floor, who were still locked in their deadly stalemate.

"Do not lift a finger against my master, Morsoi," spat the spirit who for many years had disguised himself as Barney the annoying Chihuahua. "I will rip your throat from your neck if you dare do such a thing!"

"Get off of me, _Cadejon_!" Morsoi commanded on a snarl, the last word spitting from his mouth like a curse. "You have the gall to touch me?!"

It was a wonder how he could still act so arrogantly when the last remnants of his humanoid façade had fallen away, exposing his hideous appearance for the entire world to see. Cassandra actually felt a bit sick looking at him. His skin was black and pulled taut over his bones, which were plainly visible in some places as great patches of flesh had rotten completely away. He had no lips, so his jagged teeth showed clear as he snapped them together while he talked. Cassandra was sickened to see a trio of spiders crawl out from the depths of his throat, followed shortly thereafter by a blood red millipede. They made it to his neck before vanishing into puffs of dust. His hands, which were now tipped with long, broken yellow nails, latched onto "Barney's" forelegs just as a truly stupendous surge of magical power flooded the house. Surely if he had done that to anyone or anything else, nothing but dust would've remained, just like those insects.

But the creature that had disguised itself as a Chihuahua just snarled anew, completely unaffected by Morsoi's effort to destroy him.

"You cannot harm me here, foul spirit! For as long as I serve my master, her house is my realm, and in it I am untouchable!"

"What's going on?" Barb squeaked from her corner. She could hear and see "Barney", but still not Morsoi, so she was struggling to comprehend what was happening. A bit of panic crept into the woman's voice as she gasped around harsh, rapid breaths, "Cassandra what is that? What's going on?!"

"Barney" turned to look at her. Immediately his expression softened as he promised quietly, "I will explain everything to you, _Señora_ , as soon as this wretched thing leaves."

"No."

"Barney", Barb and Morsoi all looked at her, their reactions varying from surprise to confusion to immense satisfaction. Cassandra stared between the wolf-like spirit and the spirit of pestilence, her face firmly set. Into the quiet that had fallen over the room, she said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Morsoi will stay because he and I need to finish our discussion. While I may not agree with his particular methods, he does have a point, and so we shall see if we can reach an accord as he wished."

The wolf-like spirit scowled, but uttered not one word of objection. Morsoi smirked (a remarkable accomplishment, considering he still didn't have lips), but Cassandra's next words wiped that smug look right of his grotesque face.

"You will not hurt Barb. Not for any reason. She is my guardian and my friend, and as such she needs to be privy to a number of things that would be impossible to accept without belief. To make it fair—" she turned to Barb. "—that is Morsoi, the spirit of pestilence and plague. He doesn't usually look like that, but he's very angry right now, so try not to judge him too harshly."

Barb blinked. Blinked again. Then she turned her head very slightly to peer at the floor where "Barney" clearly had his paw resting on something she couldn't see, that something being Morsoi's chest. After a moment or two of silence, she gasped, her hands once again flying to cover her mouth.

"Now you know why I try not to walk around like this," Morsoi mumbled so quietly only Cassandra could hear. By the time she looked around at him, a slight frown marring her features, his handsome, human-like mirage was back, although he was still quite angry. It was perhaps because of that infuriated glare that "Barney" pressed down harder onto the spirit of pestilence's chest, a low growl of warning rumbling in the back of his throat.

Cassandra addressed this at once: "What is your name?"

The spirit jerked a bit in surprise before lifting its head proudly. "I am Salvaguard, one of the Cadejon."

"Salvaguard, I would ask that you let Morsoi get up."

The Cadejon growled, sinking his claws just far enough into the spirit of pestilence to make Morsoi stiffen and bare his impeccably white teeth.

"I will not. He will attack my master."

"I have told him not to."

"And he did not agree to adhere to your desire!"

"Morsoi, will you attack Barb now that I have explained the circumstances to you?"

Instead of answering her question, Morsoi hissed, "This is precisely what I was talking about. One will swiftly turn into another until we are overrun!"

"It's not like I'm going to tell anyone about this," Barb said dryly. "I'd get chucked into a pscyh ward."

"It does not take much for rumors to spread, and amongst humans even those can be deadly," Morsoi countered, glaring at her with hateful eyes.

It was a standoff. Cassandra could feel a pounding headache beginning behind her eyes, and had to stifle the urge to sigh in exasperation. Nobody was going to budge, that much was abundantly clear, but someone had to if anything productive was going to be accomplished tonight. Morsoi and Salvaguard were both being foolishly stubborn, and it was beyond aggravating. But then again…she was being stubborn and foolish too, in their opinion, and she was forced to admit that, in a way, they were right. She was just as dead-set on Barb keeping her belief as Morsoi was about taking it and Salvaguard was about driving the spirit of pestilence away. She couldn't fault them for clinging to their demands when she flatly refused to relinquish her own.

What could she do? Casting around for an idea, she suddenly thought of something.

"Wait," she ordered, and vanished into the shadows before any of them could even twitch.

Out on the roof, she completely ignored the lingering sprites and stuck her head out just long enough to tell the Watchful Eye sitting there, "Come with me." She didn't even wait to see if the thing would listen, or if it would take offense to her telling it what to do. She simply vanished away, and returned swiftly to the living room.

Thankfully none of the others had moved. Yet when the Eye appeared and perched upon Barb's flat-screen so it could observe the entire room without interference, Cassandra saw all three react with surprise (although Morsoi, of course, was far better at hiding it than either Salvaguard or Barb).

Once she had everyone's attention, Cassandra said clearly, "With Issitoq as our witness, let us come to an agreement. We all know the repercussions of breaking such a promise, yes?"

All three nodded, although Barb wasn't really paying attention. Her gaze kept wandering to the Eye, every inch of her body screaming anxious discomfort. After what had happed to Coach Sophie right in front of them, Cassandra couldn't blame Barb at all for losing her trust in Issitoq and his servants.

Instead of addressing those concerns, however, Cassandra focused on the more immediate problem.

"Morsoi, if Barb promises here and now, under penalty of immediate forfeit of her belief and all memory regarding the spirit world, that she will not speak to any non-believing person over the age of fifteen about the existence of spirits, will you agree not to harm her in any way, shape, or form?"

" _If_ she agrees," Morsoi growled, "and with the stipulation that _I_ be the one to take action against her, without interference."

Salvaguard growled a warning, but Barb's voice silenced him.

"I'll agree to that," the blonde said boldly, "because I _won't_ tell anybody."

Morsoi leered at her. "We shall see."

"Let him up, Salvaguard," Cassandra said, and with the promise now made there was nothing the Cadejon could do. Very, _very_ reluctantly, he stepped away, allowing Morsoi to get to his feet at last. The spirit of pestilence made a big show of brushing himself off and straightened his clothes, perfectly mirroring the image of a prim and proper man who'd just had an unfortunate but recoverable mishap.

Annoyed by the display, Cassandra turned away from him and instead addressed Barb.

"You and Salvaguard should go somewhere to talk."

"And leave you alone with _him_?" Barb gasped, gesturing sharply with one hand to indicate Morsoi. She shook her head firmly. "No way!"

"I have no reason or desire to harm the arbiter," Morsoi said, his tone almost bored as he continued to fix himself up. Finally finished, he smoothed back his hair before affixing gray-green eyes upon the blonde. "Unlike some, I have principles."

Barb's tone grew cold. "I have no particular quarrel with you, spirit, but from what I've been told others have tried their best to abuse and manipulate Cassandra, so forgive me a bit of doubt regarding your trustworthiness."

"Ah. So you have heard about the rite as well." He smirked. "How does it make you feel, knowing this child is required to take a life?"

"She is no more culpable in this than the child soldiers who are kidnapped and threatened or brainwashed into killing for their leaders," Barb stated firmly. "If she had a choice, she would not do this. No sane person would."

Morsoi regarded her for a moment before speaking to Cassandra. "She is intelligent…for a human. I can see why you chose to enlighten her."

"Thanks for the compliment," Barb said sarcastically.

Morsoi tipped his head ever so slightly, a mocking smile on his face. Salvaguard cast him a dark look over one shoulder before dismissing him with a swish of his incredibly long tail.

"Come," the Cadejon said to Barb, who was apparently his master; Cassandra would have to remember to ask why he addressed her as such. "Let us converse in private."

With one final worried look at Cassandra, Barb left the room, leaving the two of them alone.

"Is that your plan to stop the believers, then?" Cassandra inquired, annoyance creeping into her tone in spite of her best efforts. "To kill off anyone who happens to remember?"

"As I said," Morsoi said quietly, his gray-green eyes boring into her brown ones, "I will do whatever it takes."

Cassandra pulled a face and ran her fingers through her hair. She wished she had her cloak; wearing it would've done wonders to help her weather this headache-inducing situation.

"What about you?" Morsoi pressed, narrowing his gaze upon her. "You say that you agree with me in regards to the danger, yet you clearly have reservations about putting your guardian in her place. Are _you_ prepared to do whatever it takes to keep this matter in hand?"

"As with everything, Morsoi, there are bound to be exceptions. Barb has to be one because she is my guardian. Obviously there's nothing we can do about Sophie Bennett now, but I think we should reconsider the fate of her brother… _if_ you haven't done anything to him."

He smirked, and she didn't like that look at all. It was just too… _cunning_ , smug, a cat-who-ate-the-mouse sort of look. Yet he said nothing, and so Cassandra was forced to assume that his silence was a confirmation of her assumption that Mr. Bennett had not been harmed.

"For years now he's been prattling on about the Guardians with no child growing up to remember them beyond the time they should. As for the adults in this town, they either think he's the best teacher on the planet or a harmless lunatic. With this in mind, I believe it would be reasonable for him to be left alone provided he makes the same promise as Barb."

"So that's your plan? To make them all promise not to tell anyone?"

He was mocking her, and making no effort whatsoever to conceal that fact. Cassandra's eyes narrowed in anger.

"You are not Pitch Black, so don't start treating me as he would."

The words were spoken low, dangerously, and they wiped the smirk right off Morsoi's face. He glowered at her, and she glared right back, refusing to back down.

"Do not compare me to him," he said on a dark whisper.

"Then do not act like him. Do not treat me like I am intelligent one moment and a fool the next. Of course I would not expect _everyone_ to be forced into the same promise as Barb—that would be stupid and would leave us in the exact same predicament as before. The death penalty doesn't stop the most determined or unstable humans from committing heinous crimes, does it?"

Without sparing Morsoi a chance to even attempt a response, she carried on in the same irate tone, "But as I said before, there are bound to be necessary exceptions, times when the spirit world might actually need an adult believer to act as their liaison. The Guardians brought Mr. Bennett along when they first met me, didn't they, and without Barb's belief I'd still be wasting time sneaking around while I deal with everyone's drama."

The corner of Morsoi's mouth quirked in amusement, but she completely ignored it.

"That being said, I think the current situation will serve as a good precedent. Two humans, and two only, should be allowed to maintain their belief as adults. If after Barb and Mr. Bennett pass away no one appears to replace them, fine, all the better for you. But on the off chance there does happen to be a sudden boom, we can choose which two are responsible enough to trust, have _them_ make the promise, and weed out the rest."

"I'm assuming you do not mean that in the traditional sense," Morsoi said conversationally, a glint of dark amusement lighting the green of his eyes.

"Of course we can't kill them. You said it yourself: rumors are dangerous. If word starts to spread that belief is deadly, how long will it take, do you think, before children pick up on that and become too frightened of the spirit world to dare believe in it?"

The gleam died away as his lips pursed into a frown.

"Didn't think of that, did you?"

"No," he admitted. "No I did not." Drawing in a breath, he asked on a sigh, "What do you propose, then?"

"Whatever you did to Sophie Bennett was cruel, and really quite unnecessary in some sense, but it worked. Similar tactics might work in the future, but we'll obviously have to come up with some sort of long-term plan."

Morsoi hummed in his throat as he thought. "Hm. We must not forget young one that there is also potential for the Guardians, among others, to cry foul if it is just you and I dealing with this issue. Neither of us is well liked, you know, and I am certain my reputation is bound to take a dramatic plunge once word spreads of Sophie Bennett's demise."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Perhaps we should recruit a few others to help us. It will be harder for anyone to accuse us of treachery if others join the cause, and the more of us there are the less burdensome the problem will be for all involved."

"True, but how are we going to do that? You said I was the only one capable of understanding the situation and actually caring enough to do something about it."

"In these initial stages, yes. I am not saying all spirits are stupid, simply that those who could see reason will choose not to do so should the truth fall from my lips. But if it falls from yours…"

Sad as it was to say, what Morsoi was implying was true. He was the embodiment of pestilence and plague, a dark spirit, one of the foulest creatures to be found on the earth. What reason did _anyone_ —dark, or light, or somewhere in between—have to trust him, even when he spoke no lies? Cassandra herself only believed him because her sixth sense (her unique ability to determine when someone was lying) told her everything he had said in this matter was the truth. Even so, Cassandra was immensely wary of bringing anyone else into the mix. She doubted Morsoi would ask any spirits of the light to help (not that any of them would be willing to, in all likelihood), and from her limited experience with those who walked in darkness, she knew their interests rarely ventured far from anything completely self-serving. They'd be more likely to make a sick sport out of hunting the humans than to actually try and help prevent a catastrophe.

"Anyone in particular you have in mind?"

He caught the obvious notes of mistrust in her tone and assured her, "One or two, yes, but I'm sure once you join our ranks you'll have your own ideas as to who you want to pick."

"Are they going to understand what we're trying to do, or is the power going to run off with their heads?"

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure they'll revel in the power, but it is not what you think, I assure you. They are both what you would call grey spirits, not truly evil and not truly good. I'll give you a chance to meet them before we go ahead with this, of course."

"And you'll keep your word on that?"

"Is my word not good enough for you?"

"I only just met you. I have no basis on which to judge your worthiness of trust."

"Indeed. It's good to see you remembered that; foolishness and naivety grate on me, you know." He gestured casually with one hand, indicating the Watchful Eye, which was still perched silently on top of the T.V. "With Issitoq as my witness, I give you my word that I will make no move in this matter without your complete awareness or participation." Lowering his arm, he added, "If I had intended to act on my own, would I have bothered coming to you in the first place?"

"Sorry if I've learned to take everything a spirit says with a big fat grain of salt."

He chuckled again. "You get used to the taste."

* * *

Barb followed after the Cadejon on trembling legs. Barney…her Barney…Omar's annoying little bastard of a dog…was a _spirit_?!

 _I'm either completely blind, or…or…_ something _!_

As they entered the kitchen, she heard the wolf-like spirit murmur, "Be at ease, _Señora._ "

His voice was rich and deep, resonating inside his chest. It was so unlike Barney's high-pitched yapping, Barb was having a very hard time connecting the two together. 'Be at ease?' How could she possibly be at ease when her Chihuahua had just transformed into a giant talking wolf-beast?!

She only just made it to the kitchen table before her legs gave out. She sank into a chair, which unfortunately put her right at eye-level with the Cadejon. She looked into its four eyes and found herself wholly unable to look away.

"So…" She broke off, her voice stopped up in her throat. She coughed, cleared her throat, and tried again. "Are you really Barney, or did you…did you just…I mean…"

"Barney was real," Salvaguard told her quietly. He sat at her feet, still holding her gaze steadily. He looked so calm now, so docile and harmless, completely unlike the bloodthirsty monster she'd seen a few minutes ago in the living room, ready to tear the throat out of another powerful spirit. "He was born into this world as a real dog."

"Was? You mean…?"

Salvaguard sighed deeply. His head tilted downward for just a moment before he sought her gaze again. "Let me explain from the beginning. I am a Cadejon, a wandering spirit. Until we are summoned and tasked with serving a human master, we exist in this world with no home, no power, and no true purpose."

"Who summons you? The human? Because I don't recall ever—"

"Not humans. Their animals." He smiled sadly when Barb looked at him in surprise. "Humans say that animals are capable of understanding them, that when they look into the eyes of any living thing they know that they can think and feel like a truly sentient being. That's because they can, and they are, they just cannot express it as humans do. Even most spirits lack the capacity to understand the heart and mind of an animal, but that is what we Cadejon are for. When an animal, typically a pet, dies without completing some important task, we are summoned to their side in order to hear their final wish. Our job is to then complete that task for them so their souls can be at peace."

"So Barney's dead then?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"A few years now."

She shut her eyes, drew in a long, steadying breath. With her eyes still closed, she asked in a whisper, "How did it happen?"

"He got out of the house one morning after you left for work. You left one of the windows open, and he tried to chase after you. Apparently he thought you were extremely…off that particular morning." A slight pause, then: "He was hit by a car."

The breath left her in a rush, a sort of half-gasp, half-sob. Something warm and silky touched her face, and she gasped, her eyes snapping open to discover that Salvaguard was nuzzling her, his fur tickling the skin of her chin and neck. He was trying to comfort her.

"In his last moments," he murmured as his nose brushed against her cheek, pressed there gently, "his soul cried out into the firmament, and as the closest Cadejon to his location I duly answered his call. He begged me to take his place, for he knew you were suffering and feared that if you were left alone you would disappear, just as his first master did."

First master? What was he…?

 _Omar,_ her brain realized a half-second later. Her stomach clenched and her heart seized painfully inside her chest. _A few years ago…leaving for work…the open window…_

She remembered now. That had been while she was in the throes of her depression, right after Omar had left her. She'd come home from work, discovered the open window, and suffered a momentary panic at the thought that Barney had gotten out or that someone may have gotten _in_ and made off with what precious little she had left. But Barney had been there, asleep on his dog bed, and nothing of note had been missing, so she'd shut the window and, in her horrid state of mind, proceeded to mentally berate herself for her own stupidity and lack of observation, telling herself that _Of course, anyone stupid enough to not notice a wide open window wouldn't have the capacity to realize the love of their life was pissed off and unhappy._

Barb blinked. And, just like that, tears were leaking out of her eyes. They slipped down her cheeks and dropped onto her lap.

Salvaguard lapped gently at the tears, clearing them all away, his low voice almost a comforting purr as he told her, "The Cadejon exist for the sake of the unfortunate dead. We live through them, as them, for them, so that their humans do not suffer their loss too harshly. For as long as a promise binds us, we serve one master, and one alone, loyal only to them, protective only of them, loving only them, until either our promise is fulfilled or the human lives no more. Barney asked that I ensure you are never left alone, and I will keep that promise. Until you die, Barbra Williamson, I will remain at your side and do my absolute best to keep you safe and happy."

In her attempt not to burst into tears like a big baby, Barb ended up making a horrid choking sound, almost like the laugh of someone with a terrible lung condition. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of that noise and wiped at her tears, a small smile on her face.

"How on earth did you ever manage to fool me?" she asked. "Barney was such an annoying little bastard; pretending to be him must have been terrible."

Leaning back, Salvaguard allowed himself to grin toothily. "Believe you me, _Señora_ : no one is more annoyed at him than I. Do you have any idea how _hard_ it was to keep up that act for so long? That dog had more idiosyncrasies than a bundle of loose wires."

Barb laughed for real, then, the sound bursting out of her unexpectedly. She shook her head again, both at the truth of what the Cadejon had just said and the realization that laughing had, inexplicably, made her feel rather better.

Glancing at the door, she said, "I don't think we should leave them in there alone for too long."

"You care for that girl very much," Salvaguard observed. Yet there was a note of…something in his tone that Barb couldn't quite place. She looked at him questioningly, and with a quiet sigh, completely avoiding her gaze now, he admitted, "I am glad for that, _Señora,_ the girl was obviously in need of some love and affection. But I fear when she leaves you and the world of humans behind, you will fall back into the same state that prompted Barney to call for me in the first place."

Barb's jaw clenched. She'd thought about that, of course. How could she not, when she was surrounded by horrible reminders of Cassandra's eventual departure? She believed she could handle it: she was stronger now than when Omar had left, and besides, she had prior warning this time _and_ was privy to the fact that Cassandra would still be alive in the world, just not in the same state. But…but could she really? Would she really be able to handle Cassandra going away, leaving her all alone again? Being with Cassandra had helped the girl tremendously, yes, but for the first time in many, many years, Barb had felt the warmth and presence of another person in her life, someone who wasn't an acquaintance or work partner or passing "friend", someone who was as close to blood as she could possibly get besides her own brother.

 _If I could've had kids, I would've wanted Cassandra to be mine._

It was one of her most carefully guarded secrets, but when she'd first taken Cassandra into her house Barb had researched how to obtain legal guardianship, with full intention of formally adopting her one day. But those plans had scarcely gotten off the ground when they'd come crashing down again in the wake of what Cassandra was being forced to do. Instead of spending the rest of their lives together, as she'd sincerely hoped they would, Barb now had just a few short days before the girl was doomed to leave. And when she did, prior warning or no, Barb knew it would be absolutely devastating.

…but she would handle it. She _would_ , because it wasn't like Cassandra was abandoning her or about to die. She was going to become a spirit, a greater being, someone who was not only immortal but who had the capacity to truly change the world. Cassandra may have come to her cold and distant and distrustful, but once those defensive walls were peeled away they revealed a blossoming soul that was capable of both tremendous emotion and truly astounding intellect. Her experiences in life may have been wretched and wrong, but they had built within her a fire of stubbornness and an immeasurable well of _understanding_ that could prove truly invaluable to humans, particularly other children, should she choose to use them in that way.

 _She can become a beloved spirit, one who's just as adored as the Guardians._

Barb smiled then, and Salvaguard cocked his head to one side, puzzled by the warmth and affection behind that smile.

"I won't fall back," Barb said. "Will I be sad? Certainly. But will I mourn? No. No I won't, because Cassandra isn't a lost soul anymore. It's terrible and wrong that she's being forced into this situation, but one way or another I am confident she will use it to make this world a better place." Her smile widened. "That is all the happiness I need."

* * *

When Barb and Salvaguard returned to the living room, Cassandra had just asked Morsoi a question.

"May I ask you something?"

"You may," Morsoi said with a slight smirk, "although I might withhold the answer."

"What is your opinion of the rite?"

"Can you be more specific? I do not wish to raise any undue ire with the Adjudicating Eye by misunderstanding."

Ignoring his condescending tone, Cassandra calmly elaborated, "What do you think about what's going on right now, with the Guardians and Pitch Black?"

"Ah," he said, an utterance of understanding. "You wish for me to give you an opinion on your potential choices."

"Obviously they've all got an opinion about each other, and I've heard little bit more from Issitoq, but I want to know what you have to say."

"Why? Is it because you trust me so?"

"Grain of salt, remember?" Cassandra said wryly, to which Morsoi responded with an amused smirk. She continued in a more serious tone, "You are an outsider in this situation, and have lived long enough to see all six of them come into being, I'm assuming."

He tilted his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement.

"So I believe you have seen enough of them to harbor a pretty clear judgment of who and what they are."

"Hmm." Morsoi thought for a moment, then shrugged. "It is as it seems: the Guardians are young, arrogant, and rather blind in their foolish pursuit of never-ending light and happiness for their human wards; Pitch Black is likewise arrogant and blindly seeking _his_ pursuits…questionable though they may be."

"What do you mean?"

The strangest look crossed Morsoi's face. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but Cassandra could've sworn she saw a flash of something very much like self-directed anger flicker through his expression.

…as if he just realized he'd said too much.

"Why are his pursuits questionable?" she pressed. "He wants to be powerful and believed in, and wants the Guardians destroyed. How is that anything but simple and direct?"

Morsoi said nothing, and in his silence Cassandra understood.

"You know," she said, the words coming out as a bit of a gasp. "You know about what's happening to him!"

"He knows about the other spirit?" Barb asked, shocked. She stared at Morsoi in disbelief. "Why didn't you do something about it? Isn't he a friend of yours?"

"What on earth gave you that idea, woman?" Morsoi growled, irritation etched into every syllable.

"Oh, please," Barb retorted. "Pitch Black, the _Boogeyman_ , most powerful during the Dark Ages, which oh-so-coincidentally was the same time period as the _Black Death_? I may have scraped through history class by the skin of my teeth, but I'm not completely stupid."

Cassandra's gaze flicked to Barb—who stood with one hip cocked, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as if daring the spirit deny it—then back to Morsoi. The spirit of pestilence and plague looked annoyed, but also contemplative, as if he were weighing in his mind whether or not he should acknowledge that statement with an actual response.

In the end, he laughed, short and quiet and really quite harsh. Cassandra had the feeling Morsoi wasn't laughing at Barb, but at himself.

"We were never friends," he admitted. "Not even true allies. Yes, I took advantage of his reign of terror during the Dark Ages—I found the fear and death and darkness and poverty to be most amusing. But he likewise took advantage of my plague, using it's might to deepen humanity's fears, and through them strengthen his own power and belief."

"You didn't like that," Cassandra guessed. She regarded the spirit carefully, watching the expression on his face for the minutest of changes.

"I did not care about it, at first. We were using each other yet stayed out of each other's way, so it was all well and good for us both. Call it an unspoken agreement, if you will. But when our paths eventually crossed, I realized there was something very wrong with Pitch Black. It took a while for me to determine what it was, time enough for his little _pal_ to set its sights upon me. It whispered dark promises into my ear, assuring me vast power and legions of believers if only I helped it conquer the world. Europe was just the beginning, it told me, a practice field. It assured me that before we were through, the entire planet would tremble at the feet of Pitch Black and Morsoi the Wretched. Wondrous promises, to be sure, but ones I recognized as entirely false and empty. Pitch and I were not using each other, as I had believed for so many years; we were both being used by the same foul beast."

Morsoi shook his head in disgust. "I left. I abandoned my plague to flounder and die, but it was of no consequence. Once that creature sets its sights upon something, it never lets it go, and I refused to become a part of its wretched little scheme. I am no fool to fall for its acrid lies, unlike others before me."

Cassandra was suddenly thrown back into her dreams…no, her _nightmares,_ from several nights ago. That foul voice calling to her, shrieking after her in the dark:

"' _You won't get away from me twice!'"_

"' _No one has ever escaped me! I will catch you! I will consume you! I WILL break you, Issitoq's wretched instrument!'"_

"' _YOU WILL NOT DENY ME WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE!'"_

Cassandra thought hard, looking back on everything she had learned about the mysterious monster so far. It was powerful, yes, powerful enough to not only manipulate Pitch Black but to actually borrow his power; it could harm Pitch without being anywhere around him, and in the Nightmare King's memories it could be heard but not seen or smelled or touched; and just now Morsoi had said _it_ , not him or her, meaning it was a creature the spirit of pestilence believed to be _less_ , something far beneath the respectable title of 'spirit', like a worm or an insect or…

…wait…

…insect…

"It's a parasite," she breathed. When everyone looked at her, she stared into Morsoi's eyes and declared, "It's a parasitic spirit, isn't it? That's why you didn't know it was there for so long, and that's why when I'm in his memories I'm in first person when in Frost's I was in third. It's because Pitch can't see it or touch it, but he can _hear_ it. The voice, those words, they're inside his head!"

"Oh god," Barb whispered in horror.

"What's its name?" Cassandra asked Morsoi, not even bothering to cover her desperation. "What's the creature's name?"

"I wish I could say," Morsoi said darkly, the emotion clearly directed not at her, but at Pitch's manipulator. "We spirits do not speak of it. To utter its name is to summon its attention, and as you've undoubtedly realized there is a reason we do not dare do such a thing."

"Why didn't you tell anybody?" Barb asked harshly. "All this time and you said _nothing_. Even if you couldn't say its name, you could've told somebody!"

"Who would have believed me?" Morsoi snapped. "And even if they had, what could they have done about it? At that time, Pitch Black was the most powerful spirit in existence, save for myself and Issitoq and possibly Moon. Then when he was banished and weak, no one cared enough to have helped even if I convinced them to. Besides," he added, "even if someone _had_ wanted to help and _did_ manage to get the foul thing out of him, it would not have mattered. The creature would have simply found another victim. At least this way I know where it is."

"You're disgusting," Barb hissed vehemently.

"Indeed. I am a foul and twisted thing, but such is the wrath of time and a logical mind."

"Isn't there something you can give me?" Cassandra pleaded. "Anything?"

His gray-green eyes shifted to fix upon her instead of Barb. "You wish to help him?" Skepticism was etched plainly across his face. "And what do you plan to do about it? As I said, even if you do manage to get it out of him, it will not matter. When I say it never lets go of its victims, I mean it _never. lets. go_."

"So it will kill him."

"If you corner it and defeat the physical body it possesses, yes. It will abandon the body to die before scurrying off to find its next victim."

"Then I won't defeat Pitch."

"Then it won't let him go." Morsoi shook his head. "You are a child, Cassandra Fisher. You have not lived nearly as long as I. I have seen this play out before in the ancient past, and I have read all there is to read about its foul exploits. Others have tried to save friends and loved ones from its grip, but all attempts ended in ruin. The beast forces its host body to fight and fight and fight until it can simply fight no more, and then it flees to find another, leaving the spirits who fought so desperately to save their companion with nothing but a broken, empty shell, impossible to save."

"So you're saying I should do nothing?"

"I am saying you are naïve if you think you can help him. You could always pick him for the rite and save him that way, but then the wretched creature will only take you as its next host. One spirit of fear is just as good to it as another, particularly when your powers are going to be a near carbon-copy of Pitch Black's."

"I'm not going to give up on this," Cassandra said fiercely, lifting her chin. "You said you have read about this spirit. Where can I find these books?"

"Ah, Fisher. How I adore your tenacity. Should you become one of the Guardians, you will certainly be a worthy opponent. If not…"

"Spare me."

Cassandra knew she was being rude, but she wasn't in the mood for games. Not that her attitude mattered, it seemed, as her ferocity only served to amuse Morsoi further. His strange gray-green eyes practically shone with mirth as she snapped, "Where are the books I need?"

"Many are out of your reach…for now," Morsoi informed her, still smirking broadly. "As for the others, they can be found at your dear friend North's. The bearded one has amassed himself quite the library during his time as Guardian. Try room one, row eleven."

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me. You are willing to help me with my little scheme, so why should I not help you with yours, foolish though it may be." He regarded her for a moment, although it was fleeting. "I am curious to see what you intend to do once you know the full truth. How do you intend to handle the situation?" he murmured contemplatively to himself. "It will be most entertaining, I am sure."

"You're vile," Barb growled. She reached out a hand and snagged Cassandra's arm, pulling her away from Morsoi as if those few scant inches would make all the difference. Glaring daggers at the spirit of pestilence, she said scathingly, "No wonder you went for the sister first. Picking on the weak gets you off, doesn't it?"

Morsoi said something back to her, something cool and indifferent, but Cassandra didn't hear it. She wasn't paying any attention. What Barb had just said…

"Why did you go after her first?" When Morsoi turned from Barb with an indignant sniff to focus on Cassandra instead, the girl explained, "Sophie Bennett. Why did you target her first? If you were really worried about belief spreading, you should've gone for Mr. Bennett. He's the one always spouting nonsense about the Guardians and their exploits and hanging out with Frost."

"The opportunity was presented to me, so I took advantage. It was coincidence, nothing more."

"You're lying." She could tell instantly that it was a lie…or at least not the full truth. "Maybe the opportunity did present itself unexpectedly, and that was what you took advantage of, but you must've known that targeting Coach would put her brother on the defense, making it that much harder to rid him of his belief. Considering how little Coach talked about the Guardians, making a point to _not_ get involved with the spirit world, you gained very little and risked a great deal by going after her first. So why did you do it?"

Morsoi listened with an unreadable expression on his face. When she was through, he chuckled, short and quiet, and said something under his breath that Cassandra couldn't quite catch, even with her spectacular hearing. She was pretty sure it was something along the lines of "Issitoq chose well," but she wasn't certain. Before she could think much on it, Morsoi's face contorted into a wicked, cunning leer.

"Let's just say that I knew once the sister was dealt with, Mr. Jamie Bennett wouldn't be a problem for much longer. Two birds with one stone, if you will. In fact—"

He looked positively _evil_ now, that smirk spread wide to reveal his real teeth, the crooked disgusting ones, and his eyes were reduced to gleaming slits.

"—I have it under good authority that your dear teacher will not make it through the night."


	25. Consolation

Author's Note:

Whew! Made it to the next chapter! Geez, between work and college life is kicking my butt, but I'm chugging along like a certain little engine. So updates may be a bit slower between now and the end of July, but they are still coming, I promise. :)

Thanks to everyone who's new, including those who have favorited and/or followed the story in recent weeks. I love and appreciate every single one of you. *mass hug*

 **Skyress1:** Yes, unfortunately this chapter is going to be extremely miserable. Please heed the upcoming warning, everybody. As for the names, yes, I do take the time to choose names that are meaningful to the character, instead of just completely making something up. Salvaguard is a play on the Spanish word _salvaguardia,_ which means safeguard. Cadejon is itself a play on the word Cadejo, which is a Central/South American mythological creature that takes the shape of a dog (you can google it for more info), so that's why I chose a Spanish name for Salvaguard and why he calls Barb Señora. Morsoi is a combination of Nosoi, the Greek god of pestilence and disease, and Morbi, the Roman version of the same god. Savaş, the spirit of war mentioned in the chapter about Ikiaq, is a Turkish name that literally means war, and Gerissen, the short-lived spirit in the same chapter who put his hands on Cassandra, got his name from a German word that can either mean cunning or sly, depending upon the usage. So I imagined him as the spirit of deception/deceit. ...I think that's all, haha. (Geez, and I said I wouldn't go crazy with the OCs. *shifty eyes*)

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Thanks for the praise on both stories. :D And yeah, Morsoi is one of those spirits who's always going to be just a little bit shady, even when you think he's doing something nice for once. Considering how long he's existed, I think he deserves to be a little bit of a douche.

 **SilversunXD:** I can't tell you if Issitoq knew about it or not, that would spoil everything. You'll just have to wait and see. (mwahaha)

 **starthedetective:** YES! OMG, I FINALLY get to talk to you about your theories! Now you know why I was always so HNG when you brought up the issue of adults believing, because it was just so on-point it seriously got to me, but then I couldn't say anything because it would've been a super spoiler. So major congrats to guessing it! XD

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Like I said before, I haven't read the actual _Guardians_ books or even put my hands on a copy, so I don't know anything about the fearlings except that they exist. But feel free to compare them to my parasitic spirit if you wish, I'm never against readers drawing from outside inspiration. :)

 **Momochan77:** It certainly is a lot to take in, but considering we're rapidly approaching the climax of the story the build-up is necessary.

 **A Person:** Gasp! Who is this "Mary Sue" you speak of? I would _never_ write about someone as dull and boring and cliched as that. It would be absolutely preposterous! Lol, on a more serious note, I'm very glad you took the chance to read it. It always makes me so very warm and fuzzy to know that there are people out there who love my stories so very much.

On a far more serious note...

 ** _WARNING!_** And I am being DEAD SERIOUS about this! This chapter contains **EXTENSIVE** discussions of depression, intense feelings of guilt, and suicide. Remember how I said Barb's talk with Cassandra about Omar would come back into play later on? Well, this is it, folks. So please, please PLEASE _**CONTINUE WITH CAUTION!**_

* * *

The moment Morsoi was gone, Barb turned to Cassandra.

"Stay here."

"I'm coming with you."

"No you're not. You will stay here. Salvaguard will ensure you stay safe."

"I'm not a baby," Cassandra snapped. "I've managed this long without anyone babysitting me!"

She didn't mean to lose her cool like that, but she was hurt and angry over the way Barb was acting. The woman never spoke to her like this, like she was _ordering_ Cassandra to listen and obey. Her pride wasn't the only thing that stung from those cool words.

"No, you're not a baby," Barn acknowledged in the same carefully neutral tone, "but you're still a child, and there are some things in this world a child just should not see. Ever."

Cassandra frowned as she struggled to piece together what Barb was trying to convey to her. She studied the woman's face, noting the thinly-pressed lips and stony green eyes, before reaching out with her magic. Fear was there, looming large and dark and unmistakable, like a gathering storm cloud. Barb was trying valiantly to hide it—she knew Cassandra's powers included the ability to detect fear in others—yet the effort was proving utterly futile. The emotion was stark and raw and heavy, and if Cassandra had to translate that feeling into words, they would be along the lines of: _Not again. Dear god, please, not again._

Clarity hit her in an instant.

"You think Mr. Bennett's going to kill himself." Was that a catch in her voice? She honestly couldn't say. She was too stunned by what she'd just understood to focus on her own emotions.

"I hope not," Barb replied emphatically. "I hope and pray to god that he won't, that he hasn't, but it's the only conclusion that makes sense. You saw how he reacted when his sister lost her belief, and the way that Morsoi character said he knew hurting Sophie Bennett would be like taking out two birds with one stone…" She shook her head. "They always say the brightest and most outgoing are the ones to watch out for."

Her stomach painfully clenched, Cassandra watched as Barb pursed her lips and resolutely lifted her chin. "You need to stay here, Cassandra. Even if it's not too late, this isn't a topic you should be privy to. Things like this should stay between adults."

She acquiesced with a mumbled, "Fine, but I don't need a babysitter."

"A child your age shouldn't be home alone, especially at night."

"Salvaguard isn't human, so his presence is really a moot point," Cassandra pointed out. "And you'll need him more than me. I have magic, you don't, and you won't be able to see any spirits except the Guardians or Morsoi. What will you do if someone attacks you and you're all alone?"

"She is right, _Señora_ ," Salvaguard observed. "My duty is to see to your protection. No one else's."

Already stressed by the prospect of having another person in her life contend with suicidal thoughts, Barb did not take the Cadejon's words well at all. She rounded on him in an instant.

"So you're saying if someone attacked Cassandra, you would do nothing?" Anger blazed in her eyes, temporarily smothering worry and fear.

"I would save her if necessary, if such is needed to keep you happy, for your happiness is my only priority," Salvaguard explained gently. "But if I must choose between your life and hers, yes, I would choose to save you."

"Don't blame him," Cassandra interjected when Barb opened her mouth to berate him for admitting such a thing. "In the spirit world each individual has their place, their purpose, and a very specific set of rules to abide by in order to see that purpose fulfilled. If his duty is to protect you and keep you happy because that's what Barney wanted, then my place at your side is just a coincidence. There isn't anything he can do to change that."

Salvaguard nodded in Cassandra's direction, a signal of his gratitude, but he did not take his four eyes off of Barb, who was clearly struggling to process (and, more importantly, _accept_ )that not everyone was free to put a child's welfare first.

"I'll never be able to understand this spirit world of yours," Barb muttered, but thankfully put the matter aside. "I suppose you can come with me, Salvaguard. But Cassandra, I want you to promise me that the very _second_ it looks like someone might be coming up to the house you'll disappear into the shadows and hide. Even if it's one of those Guardians, even if it's that dream weaver friend of yours, I don't want you to engage with anyone. Is that clear?"

The woman was anxious, fearful, and a touch desperate, so Cassandra nodded and promised without protest. There was a part of Barb that still wondered whether she could've done something to help Omar, and that nagging kernel of doubt would not allow her to let this matter with Mr. Bennett go. The man may have rubbed her entirely the wrong way, but if she didn't do everything in her power to help him, she'd never forgive herself.

A faint glimmer of relief in her eyes, Barb nodded back. With a glance at Salvaguard, she said in a dry tone, "I hope you know the way, because I sure as hell don't."

"I will find it," the Cadejon promised. Striding up to Barb's side, he said, "Climb onto my back. It will be faster this way."

Barb hesitated for only a second or two before clambering on, fisting the spirit's long fur in order to avoid falling off.

"Won't people see me?" she gasped, clutching tighter as the Cadejon turned to leave the room, the motion causing her to tip precariously to the left. Adjusting her seat as subtly as possible in an effort to save face, she pointed out in a slightly shaky voice, "It's not like anyone has to believe in order to see me."

"We will run too fast for them to see," Salvaguard promised, trotting out the back door. "Just hang on."

With that said, in the time Cassandra could blink there was a streak of black and the pair was gone.

* * *

Pressing her face into the fur between Salvaguard's flexing shoulders, Barb squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to quell the incessant churning of her stomach. If she so much as peeked at the blurred scenery flashing past them, she knew she was going to be incredibly sick. She'd almost take another trip through Santa Clause's snow globe over this.

Almost.

Thankfully the ride was short. In less than two minutes they were outside a large apartment complex. Most of the windows were dark, which was a huge relief, considering Barb's current state.

"Your Mr. Bennett is inside that one," Salvaguard supplied as she slid shakily off his back. "His scent is strongest there."

Barb nodded, still too nauseated to speak. Smoothing her wind-swept hair as best she could, she hurried to the appropriate door and knocked. No answer. She knocked again.

"He is home," Salvaguard informed her. He stood at her side with one ear cocked, listening intently. "He is alive. I can hear him moving."

Thanking every lucky star that such was the case, Barb wasted no more time. Throwing caution to the wind, she called, "Bennett! Mr. Jamie Bennett! Open the door please!"

Her knocking became louder and more insistent the longer he left her standing out there. The man was clearly ignoring her, and her growing indignation bled into her desperation to help, her fear of what he intended to do, and the slightest hope that maybe, just maybe, everything could work out if _only_ he would open the damn door!

The result was rather inappropriate (and really quite undignified) reaction.

"Jamie Bennett, you open this door right now!" she hollered, slamming her fist into the door with all her might.

For what it was worth, _that_ got his attention. A few moments later, the lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal a rather haggard-looking Jamie Bennett.

"You," he uttered, as if his shocked brain couldn't come up with anything more suitable to say. He stared at her uncomprehendingly for about two-and-a-half heartbeats before his eyes slid to Salvaguard, who stood mutely at Barb's side.

Before the man could say anything to or about the Cadejon, Barb blurted out, "If you kill yourself tonight, or _any_ night, so help me god I will never forgive you."

Brown eyes snapped up in an instant.

"What are you talking about?" he said, trying—and failing—to cover the pang of guilt he felt upon hearing those words with a very poor attempt at ignorance.

"We had a very interesting visitor tonight," Barb replied, holding the man's gaze steadily. "A very ugly, arrogant spirit by the name of Morsoi."

"The spirit of pestilence," Mr. Bennett murmured, brows pinching slightly in confusion. "Why would he—"

Barb interrupted him. "Among the many, _many_ things he had to say, he admitted to being the one who caused your sister to lose her belief. Apparently he thinks adult believers are dangerous, so he goaded her into doing what she did knowing full well what her punishment would be."

Jamie Bennett stared at her. Barb stared right back.

"How?" the man whispered. "How could he have done it?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Barb admitted. "But he managed somehow."

"It should've been me." A few tears slipped down the man's cheeks, glistening faintly in the light of a nearby lamppost as he repeated miserably, "It should've been me."

"Neither of you should have been subjected to—"

"It's all my fault." The man was breaking down again, just as he had that night back in Barb's house. He clutched to the doorjamb with one hand as his body started to shake, his other hand pressing to his face in an attempt to conceal the wave of raw, powerful emotions coursing through him. Misery and guilt and grief. "She never wanted to remember, she'd always wanted to forget, but I kept reminding her. I kept telling her all those stupid stories and kept bringing Jack and the others around even when she didn't want them there. She yelled at me so much about it, but I didn't listen. I never listened to her. I was so stupid, so _stupid_! I just kept telling myself it was better that way, kept telling _her_ that she'd thank me one day. Thank me! Like a stupid self-righteous fool! How could I do that to her? How could I have ever justified doing that? She just wanted to be normal, she just wanted to have friends, and because of me the only friend she ever got to keep was Bunny!"

Barb caught him by the shoulders just as he collapsed; he was shaking so badly he could no longer stand upright. She half-walked, half-carried him into the apartment, leaving Salvaguard to close the front door while she led Jamie into the living room.

The man sat heavily on the couch and buried his face in his hands. Curled up on himself, he wept loudly and freely, like a child, and Barb let him. In complete silence she took a seat beside him and laid one hand on his arm, her grip gentle but firm so he would know that she was there and not about to leave him.

Between his gasping sobs, he continued to pour out his every woe.

"I fucked everything up! I ruined all of it! Why couldn't I have just pretended around Caleb and Claude and Pippa? Why couldn't I have been even a _little_ mature around them and _acted_ like I'd forgotten, just for their sake? Then we still could've been friends! Then they still could've been friends with Sophie! All of her friends…they all abandoned her. They all made fun of her for being the sister of a freak! They'd tease her something awful and ask her if she saw unicorns and fairies in the woods, and like a stupid fucking fool I told them that yes, we _did_ see fairies! Oh, they laughed so much at her over that! I didn't even realize what I was doing, I just kept insisting that fairies were real because it was the truth and they just made fun of her more! I got to act like a lunatic and Sophie took all the bullying from it. What sort of brother does that? What sort of brother leaves their own sister with no friends and no social life at all and then expects them to be _happy_ about it? I'm so stupid. So stupid! And then she tells me she's sick of it all, that she doesn't want anything more to do with the spirit world and that I wasn't to talk to her about it anymore. And I got angry! Yeah," he ranted with a self-deprecating laugh that was punctuated by yet another sob, "I got mad at _her_ for wanting to pretend none of it was real! I got mad at her for wanting to have a real life. I didn't talk to her for _months_ over that! But you know what? I forgave her. Like a complete _moron I_ forgave _her_ like _she_ was the one with the problem! Who does that? Who forgives a victim like they're the one to blame? It was such an awful thing to do to her, and I didn't even realize it until now. Isn't that pathetic? And then! Then I go and drag her into this mess, promising her it wouldn't mean anything, that she didn't have to do anything besides sit there so I could sort everything out with Fisher because it would look weird if I did it alone. And look where _that_ bright idea got her!"

He finally paused for breath, entire body quivering uncontrollably. Barb ran her fingers along his arm in a soothing gesture, but kept quiet. She could sense there were other things he needed to get off his chest.

Sure enough…

"Then I go and get this…" Jamie reached blindly with one hand to retrieve from the floor at his feet what appeared to be a ball of crumpled paper. As soon as Barb took it from him, he put the hand back to his face again. Speaking into his palms, he admitted in a hoarse whisper, "To get something like that after what happened…it was like a slap to the face. It was like…like I paid my dues by selling out my own sister. Like I traded her belief for absolution."

Barb carefully unfurled the tattered paper—clearly Jamie had reacted quite negatively to the contents. As she read, her shoulders slumped and she shook her head in disbelief and despair.

"Oh, Jamie…"

It was a notice from Issitoq, the Adjudicating Eye, one that lifted Jamie Bennett's prior sentence and allowed him free contact with both Cassandra and the Guardians without fear of punishment. While it should've been an immense relief to no longer have such a horrendous thing looming over his head, for it to come roughly forty-eight hours after his sister lost her belief was horribly offensive. It really did make it seem like Jamie had traded his belief for hers.

"This isn't your fault."

The words were barely audible as they escaped her throat, and she knew he would never believe them. Squaring her shoulders, Barb threw the ruined scroll onto the coffee table and informed Jamie Bennett, the very man she'd detested and considered a psychotic individual not so very long ago, "None of this is your fault, Jamie. The spirits are the ones who started this whole mess, started it and then dragged you and Sophie and Cassandra into it. The Guardians asked you for help, didn't they, which was how you wound up asking your sister in the first place. As for Morsoi, he chose of his own free will to do what he did, and your sister, in turn, chose to sacrifice her belief in the hopes of saving the Guardians, her friend Bunny included. You did not make either of those decisions, so do not blame yourself for the consequences of them. If anyone is to blame for all of this, it's the spirits and their incessant drama."

She paused before continuing, allowing Jamie Bennett a bit of time to process what she'd said. "You and Sophie are pawns in this wretched game, just like Cassandra. You three are being used and abused and I cannot bear to watch it continue. I haven't blamed that child one bit for my being dragged into this mess, so I doubt your sister would blame you or would want you to blame yourself. That night, the night you both came to my house, you said she texted you. Did the texts appear condemning or convey any sort of anger?"

Stiff and reluctant, he shook his head.

"Then my point stands. If she was ever going to blame you, it would've be then, and since she didn't it's clear she had no intentions of ever blaming you. So don't beat yourself up over it. Besides," she pressed, her intestines scrambled into messy knots, "if you went through with whatever it was you were thinking, how do you think Sophie would react?"

Jamie went rigid in his seat, his quivering abruptly ceased.

"You said Sophie doesn't have many friends because of the belief you two shared…and maybe you're right," Barb went on, quietly pressing her point home. "But even if you are right, do you think doing away with yourself is going to somehow solve her social difficulties? Do you think taking away the one strong bond she has left will bring friends to her side in droves? She won't even understand why, Jamie. If you do this to her now, when she no longer has belief or even memories of the Guardians, how would you or anyone else ever get her to understand why you did it in the first place? As someone who's lost the only person I ever truly loved, trust me when I say that leaving your sister alone will do her far more harm than it ever will good."

At last, Jamie Bennett slowly lifted his head from his hands. Tear-streaked cheeks, mussed-up hair, and wide brown eyes presented a rather depressing picture as he stared at her.

"How did you even know?" he breathed. "How'd you know that I was considering…?"

The words trailed off into uncomfortable silence; it was difficult for the young man to admit aloud exactly what had been running through his mind. Knowing as she did just how hard it had been for Omar to talk about such things, even after months of on-and-off therapy, Barb answered the question without pressuring him to finish it.

"Morsoi gave us some cryptic excuse as to why he went for your sister instead of you. He said he had it 'under good authority' that you weren't going to live to see morning."

Jamie swallowed thickly, nervously, before responding to that. "He probably asked." His voice was a bit hoarse. "There are many spirits besides Morsoi who deal with death: Savaş, the spirit of war, and Njaa, the spirit of hunger and famine…even your Cadejon friend, although they're more closely associated with animals than humans. Anyway," he continued after a brief pause, "Imestes is the spirit linked to human deaths caused by emotion."

"Suicide."

He winced. "Mostly, but not always. You know the saying 'died of a broken heart'? That's her too."

"So all those stories of identical twins and cute old couples who were married for ages that die at the same time…?"

He smiled sadly. "That's Imestes. Morsoi probably bargained with her in exchange for information about me, about my lifespan. He wouldn't have asked her outright, as that would be asking for a favor, and you're probably well-aware of the connotations behind that."

"I've heard," Barb growled, but then she frowned. "I don't understand. If you didn't have these…thoughts until very recently, how would this Imestes spirit know enough about it to tell Morsoi?"

"She's attuned to the lifespans of individuals who are susceptible to such an end. The stronger her connection to a person, the more apt they are to see to their own end." He grimaced. "Once she and Morsoi struck their deal, all he had to do was ask if she could sense me in the world, and if she could, that meant there was a risk of me taking my own life given the right circumstances. After that, it was simply a matter of him providing those circumstances."

"That wretched little bastard."

He shrugged. "That's the spirit world. Not all of them have pleasant jobs, and Morsoi's, coupled with his exceptionally long existence, has made him quite pitiless, almost callous. He'd readily do something like that again if he deemed it necessary, although I'm not entirely sure why he did it with me and Sophie. He usually doesn't interfere in matters that don't directly involve him."

Barb sighed. "That's something you and Cassandra will have to talk about. I'm afraid I'll just mess up the explanation if I tried."

He nodded silently to illustrate his understanding. When his puffy, slightly bloodshot eyes didn't waver from her face, Barb asked, "What?"

"I'm just trying to understand." His brows were furrowed, emphasizing his confusion. "Why did you come here? Why did you help me? You don't like me. You haven't liked me since we met. You even thought I was a pedophile."

Barb snorted, then coughed, turning away slightly while hiding her red, embarrassed face in one hand.

"And from the sounds of it," the young man continued, "Cassandra's told you everything that's been going on, so you know what I did to get myself in trouble with Issitoq in the first place. So…why?"

"Like I said," Barb said, lowering her hand, "I've lost someone very important to me. He was my rock, my world, until one day he just up and left me. He never took his own life, thank god, but he came within a hairsbreadth of doing it. He left me because he thought a quick and dirty end to the relationship would make his death easier for me to accept."

She turned her head to pin the man beside her with her gaze. "As soon as I figured out what Morsoi's sick, twisted plan was I knew I had to do something. I couldn't stand the thought of anyone I know hurting themselves in that way, and after what happened between Omar and me I knew just how deeply your death would hurt Sophie. I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone, not even on the sister of a man I once thought was harassing and menacing a twelve-year-old child."

Jamie hung his head, his expression awash with shame.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." A comforting hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I too once believed that death was my only recourse, that everything was broken and ruined and that it was all my fault. That nothing was ever, _ever_ going to get better because I was the one who had broken and ruined everything, and so as long as I existed nothing ever _could_ get better. It wasn't until he called me one night and poured his soul out to me that I finally realized the truth. It wasn't my fault. None of it was my fault. Life was sitting on me, grinding me under its dark, ugly ass, and it was doing the exact same thing to Omar and to thousands if not millions of others. Now it's doing it to you. You need to fight back, Jamie. It's hard to fight, especially when giving in can be so much easier, but the reward for hanging on is absolutely worth it."

A warm smile spread across her face even as a pair of tears slipped from her eyes to trickle down her cheeks. "If I had given up, I would've never met Cassandra. Every time I look at her I know I was put on this Earth for a purpose, and that purpose was to meet her and help take care of her. That girl is fighting too, you know. She's fighting so many battles it's unbelievable, but through it all she stays determined. I live in awe and in fear of her strength each and every day. She kept so much bottled away inside I thought for sure it would break her, but it didn't. It didn't because she came to trust me and let herself open up and be _free_. You need to open up, too. You need to talk to your sister."

"She doesn't even remember, so how can I possibly—?"

"The things you feel aren't inseparable from the spirit world. You can make her understand without having to talk about the Guardians or Morsoi or any of it. She may not believe anymore, but she's still your sister."

For several long, tense minutes Jamie struggled with his decision. From the pain visibly etched upon his face, Barb could tell that he was torn over whether or not he should listen. She could almost see the thoughts churning inside his head: _If she's wrong and I call her…_

In the end, Jamie Bennett reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. A couple of light touches on the screen, and he resignedly put the device to his ear. While he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line, Barb mentally prayed that Sophie would pick up.

A couple of heartbeats later…

"Hey, Soph. No, nothings' wrong, I just…" He buried his face into his free hand, sighed heavily, and admitted, "I'm just having a rough night. No I didn't get turned down again, geez. Hearing you talk, you'd think I never get any attention." He chuckled weakly. "Yeah, yeah, shut up. …Nah, it's not about that either. It's just…well, do you remember…" He swallowed thickly. Barb patted him on the knee, wordlessly encouraging him. "Remember the other night when you had your blackout? Yeah, that night. …No, Fisher's guardian isn't coming after me, and _no_ , nobody's called the cops. Relax. It's just that…well…remember how I reacted? Yeah, I sort of freaked out, didn't I?"

The hand on his face raked through his hair, pausing near the crown of his head to grip the dark strands in a fierce grip.

"Sophie, I'm not doing so good. After what happened to you, I just can't relax, you know? I can't calm down. I just keep thinking about what happened and how much it scared me…hell, it still scares me. Things just aren't the same anymore and it makes me think I'm losing you…that I've already lost you. …I know. …Yes, I know that, but to me it's different. God it's really hard to explain…"

There was a really long pause as Jamie listened to his sister talk. Barb guessed Sophie Bennett was trying to reassure her brother, to convince him that no matter what he had to say she wasn't going to reject him.

It took a good while but finally, _finally_ , Jamie opened up.

"I…I didn't treat you very well, Sophie. As a kid I either outright ignored you or spent too much time being disgusted and mad at you over how much you hurt yourself. I thought you were doing it for attention, I thought you were just acting like a big baby to get mom to take your side all the time. I hated that, and for a while I…I hated you, too." He hung his head in shame. "I knew you always hated how I talked about Santa and the Easter Bunny. I knew it embarrassed you, and…to be honest…I did it a lot around you on purpose just to get your friends to tease you. I thought it was funny. I thought it was good payback for how much whining and crying you did around mom. By the time I realized you weren't faking it I just…I mean… _god_ , Sophie, I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could go back and do it all over. I wish I could somehow make it up to you. It was so hard for you to make friends, and I knew that, but I tormented you anyway and it was a really shitty thing for me to do."

Tears slipped down his cheeks, dropped into his lap. His voice cracked a little as he continued on a hoarse whisper, "Sophie, I…I still believe. I know you think I'm crazy, I know the whole damn world thinks I'm crazy, but I still believe in Jack Frost and Santa and the Tooth Fairy. All of them. When I burst in on you at that house the other night and started asking you about Bu—about the Easter Bunny, you told me they weren't real and it just…hit me, you know. It brought back all those memories and reminded me of just how horrible I was to you and just how much you mean to me. You're my only sister, my family. You're the only one who ever put up with me for believing in all this crazy stuff. I don't have anyone except for you, Soph. I used to have Monty, but I don't anymore. He stopped believing too. He stopped believing a long time ago, just like he was supposed to, but I kept on lying and telling you we talked 'cause I didn't want you to think I was pathetic. Monty doesn't talk to me, Soph. He hasn't talked to me in years, he just pretended otherwise when we happened to meet in Boston 'cause he realized what I'd done and took pity on me. He's a stand-up guy like that. But the truth is he…he thinks I'm crazy, just like the rest of them do. You're the only one who's put up with me this whole time and hasn't treated me like a freak. And then I went and embarrassed you like that and I just…it just…" He choked on a sob. "It just hit me that if I didn't have you anymore, then I wouldn't have anybody. And it hurts, 'cause I've never treated you half as good as you deserved and then I go and put so much pressure on you. It's just…it's just not fair to you at all!"

Words failed him, so he sat there crying sloppily while Sophie talked. Barb kept her hand on his knee and looked the other way, trying to give the poor man some semblance of privacy while simultaneously offering much-needed support. She tuned out the conversation as best she could and occupied herself with counting how many DVDs he had on the shelf above his television. Her brows lifted in surprise when she realized the odd order in which he'd placed his movies wasn't so bizarre at all; the man had actually alphabetized them, making exceptions only for sequels that didn't have sequential titles.

 _Either he's very particular, or his home life is incredibly boring._

Judging from the state of the man's desk back at the school, she knew it was probably the latter, which only solidified the sad fact that Jamie Bennett, for all his good-natured charm, truly lacked any sort of companionship apart from his sister and his coworkers. It was no wonder he took his sister's loss of belief so very hard.

 _And no wonder Imestes could sense him with her magic._

She was broken from her thoughts when Jamie suddenly spoke.

"You…you're okay with that? You're okay that I still believe in them?"

He fell quiet again as he listened. After what felt like eons, even though it couldn't have been more than a minute or two, Jamie's tears finally ceased.

"I don't deserve you," he murmured into the phone. "I really don't."

His sister said something to him in reply, and he managed to force out a weak laugh in response. That one sound made Barb want to sigh in relief and leap into the air with joy.

"Yeah, yeah. Save it for the next time I have to take you to the ER for breaking your fingers. …No. …No you don't have to do that, I'm okay now. No, really, I'm fine. You don't need to come over. Yes. Yes, I'll call you if anything happens." He rolled his eyes. " _Yes_ , Sophie, I _promise_ to call you if anything like this happens again. …No. No, I understand. I'll be fine, trust me. I honestly feel a whole lot better now."

Barb risked a sideways glance. Jamie's expression was warm, and there was even a small smile on his lips.

"Thanks, Soph," he said. "I'll call you later, okay? Be sure to tell me how your appointment goes on Tuesday. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Bye."

"That went well," Barb noted as he hung up.

"Yeah," Jamie agreed on a puff of air that was almost certainly a disguised gasp of relief. He ran a hand through his already thoroughly mussed-up hair as he added, "Way better than I expected."

She probed gently, not wanting to push him too far too quickly. "Feeling alright?"

"Yeah…I'm okay."

Realizing there was no way she'd miss the hesitation there, Jamie sighed and turned away to stare at the wall.

"I'm still a bit…you know. Sophie thinks it's really weird that I still believe, but like she said she's always thought I was weird." He chuckled weakly, "She said weirdness is what makes the world turn." Then he shook his head. "Anyway…it's not like I'm just gonna forget what happened, you know? It still hurts that she forgot, and for it to have happened _that_ way… I don't know. I guess I still feel responsible, but only a little."

He glanced at her. "Make sense?"

"Absolutely."

Barb hadn't expected one phone call with Sophie to magically fix everything. His sister may have pulled Jamie back from the brink, but Barb knew he was still standing on the cliff, facing the precipice. Guilt like that would take quite some time to overcome, if he ever got over it completely, which she doubted he would. Nevertheless, it was a serious step in the right direction, and at the very least the immediate danger seemed to have passed.

"Come on," Barb said, rising up from the couch.

He did the same, looking confused. "Where are we going?"

"My place."

" _What_?"

"I'm not leaving you here alone tonight, and I can't leave Cassandra home alone either. So. Pack a bag."

The young man blinked. Blinked again. When it was clear from Barb's silent stare that she wasn't going to back down, he relented with a quiet sigh and left to go grab some clothes.

A few minutes later, he met up with Barb and Salvaguard by the front door. It was only then that Jamie Bennett remembered the Cadejon was there.

"Protective or vengeful?" he inquired curiously.

Salvaguard replied, "Protective."

"Ah."

"Ready to go?" Barb asked, not wanting the two to linger on that particular conversation. If anyone was ever going to tell Jamie about why Salvaguard was with her, it would be her.

"Yes." The young man grinned, and with that one boyish look seemed almost like his old self again. "Are we getting a ride?"

"Walking is always an option for you," Salvaguard dryly noted, but allowed a chuckling Jamie to climb up onto his back behind Barb.

* * *

Cassandra was pacing the living room, distractedly shaping dream sand animals and objects with one hand. So absorbed was she in her own thoughts, she didn't even notice how much effort it was taking just to create these tiny, short-lived creatures.

Her dream-weaver magic was weakening.

The sound of the front door opening snapped her back to the present. The last bit of sand vanished into nothing as she darted down the hall towards the kitchen. When she saw who was there, she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Don't look so shocked to see me," Mr. Bennett said, his attempt at humor utterly lost due to the uncomfortable, almost sheepish, look on his face.

"You're not taking my bed," Cassandra stated firmly.

Surprise flashed across his face before the corner of his mouth quirked into a small smile. "I wouldn't dare."

"It's just for the night, Cassandra," Barb explained as Salvaguard wove between the occupants of the room to go settle down somewhere. Between dealing with Morsoi and carrying a pair of humans around town, the Cadejon was looking forward to a bit of a rest.

"I really don't care," Cassandra told Barb honestly, "as long as I keep the bed."

"Don't worry. He'll have the couch."

An awkward silence fell over the duplex after that. Mr. Bennett was clearly uncomfortable being around the two of them, considering everything that had happened in recent weeks (and especially after what had almost happened that very night), but Cassandra found she was also rather put-off by his presence. There was still a great deal she needed to talk to Barb about, namely the parasitic spirit and her eagerness to get to North's library, but it was hard to broach either subject when Mr. Bennett was practically on top of them.

She finally managed to corner Barb in the bathroom while the woman got ready for bed.

"I need to leave."

" _What_?" Barb hissed in surprise, toothbrush still stuck in the corner of her mouth.

"I have to go to the library."

"Not tonight you don't."

"But every second I waste—"

"One more night isn't going to hurt," Barb interrupted. They were arguing in whispers so as to avoid being overheard by Mr. Bennett. The woman took the toothbrush out of her mouth and gave Cassandra a gentle but unwavering look. "I know you're anxious to help, Cassandra, and that's commendable, even admirable. But it's nearly midnight, you're exhausted, and I know you haven't slept well for at least a week. Sleep tonight, at least for a few hours. I'll wake you early so we can go."

"'We?'"

"Obviously I'm going with you."

"If I take you with me the Guardians will be even more suspicious. They'll start asking questions, and the more of them that know about your belief—"

"The rabbit knows, so who's to say the rest don't know already?"

Cassandra snorted. "As badly as they're fighting right now, and considering that stupid rabbit is stuck in his realm, I doubt he's been able to tell anybody."

"Tell anybody what?"

Both females froze at the sound of Mr. Bennett's voice. Cassandra couldn't believe she hadn't heard him coming. Had she really been that distracted?

"Nothing," she snapped, scowling irritably at the ill-timed interruption.

Barb lifted her eyes to stare over her head at Mr. Bennett, then considered her once more.

"We should tell him."

"What?!" Cassandra exclaimed, far too shocked and alarmed by that simple declaration to even attempt to mask her surprise, her horror, at the very notion.

"Tell me what?" Mr. Bennett asked, even more confused than before.

Barb ignored him and continued addressing a flabbergasted Cassandra. "His knowledge of the spirit world is clearly beyond both of ours. He knew about Morsoi without me having to say more than the jerk's name, and he knew just from sight what type of spirit Salvaguard is and what he's doing with me. He can help us."

"But if we tell him anything, we'll have to explain all of it," Cassandra countered. "He's on the Guardians' side, and they can't know about this. They can't!"

"It's _because_ Jamie is on their side that we need him. They know him and trust him, so he can help us get into Santa's library without causing too much fuss. But he won't trust _us_ if we don't explain what's going on."

"But Barb—"

"Cassandra, I know you're upset, and I know fully well why you don't want to tell anyone. But baby girl you need to understand that this issue is beyond just the two of us. We know very little and we only have a couple more nights to solve this. If we don't take the help while we have it, we may never get a second chance."

Cassandra ducked her head, tucking her chin into her chest as she struggled with her immense distrust of Mr. Bennett and her desperate need to solve the riddle of the parasitic spirit's identity so she could help Pitch.

As the heavy silence dragged on, Mr. Bennett hesitantly spoke up from behind her.

"Um, I'm not sure what's going on…but if there's anything I can do to help you, I'll be happy to oblige."

Cassandra rounded on him at once, hissing her response before she changed her mind.

"Swear to me right now that everything we discuss in this matter remains absolutely private. You will not speak of it to the Guardians, you will not speak of it to your sister, you will not even whisper about it in your sleep. 'Cause if you do," she growled, "I swear on every last drop of blood in my body that I will make you regret it."

The man was clearly taken aback by the menace in her voice, the glare on her face, but nodded his head all the same.

"I swear it," he said, then asked, "Whatever's got you so worked up? And why can't the Guardians know about it?"

Realizing Cassandra was too upset over the predicament to speak, Barb informed him on a weary breath, "Cassandra's discovered that Pitch Black has been infected with a parasitic spirit."

Brown eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. " _What_?!"

"Have you heard anything about this?"

"No! No, I haven't! And the Guardians haven't either, I swear. They would've told me if they had. If they'd even suspected anything like this, they would've…"

He didn't say what it was they would've done. One hand rose to press against his forehead, his expression the very picture of bewilderment. "I don't believe it. I never knew there even was such a thing. How can you be sure—?"

Cassandra interrupted him sharply. "I've had my suspicions, tonight Morsoi confirmed them."

"Damn." His eyes snapped up to meet her hard stare. "What do you intend to do?"

"Morsoi said there are books in North's library that can tell me more about what this spirit is. I need to read them as soon as possible."

"Did he happen to mention where in North's library those books were located?"

"Room one, row eleven."

Jamie laughed dryly. "That's not exactly the most explicit of directions you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't the phrase 'room one' indicate anything to you? North's library is massive. A single row can hold thousands of texts and scrolls."

Cassandra growled under her breath. "Great."

"Let me help you," the man offered. "Look I know you don't trust me, and to be honest, if I was in your shoes I wouldn't trust me either. Apparently I stuck my nose into something that was absolutely none of my business."

 _You've got that right._

"But you won't ask North for help, which leaves you with no choice but to dig through each book individually until you find what you're looking for. That's gonna take a long time, time you apparently don't have. Three pairs of eyes will definitely be better than two, and I've been in North's library before so I at least have some familiarity with the place. Plus I can keep North and the yetis off your back."

" _Yetis_?!"

"Yes, yetis," Mr. Bennett informed an alarmed Barb before readdressing Cassandra. "So are you willing to accept my help? Consider it a token of thanks for tonight, or a peace offering for what happened a few weeks ago. Whichever you'd prefer."

Cassandra knew what the man was doing, even if he wasn't aware of it himself: he was trying to make his proposal into a bargain, a trade, because on some level, even if it was just instinctual, he remembered that offering things freely carried connotations.

 _He's already begun associating me with the spirit world, and he doesn't know about the rite at all._

She didn't know why, exactly, but the thought pricked a sliver of hurt into her heart. She'd never been close to anyone in the human world—Mr. Bennett himself had been little more than an acquaintance up until that night—yet those few and fragile relationships were already starting to sever before her very eyes.

It was happening, really happening. She really was going to become a spirit and be completely forgotten.

Barb was looking at her funny; probably because she recognized the look on Cassandra's face as one of barely-concealed pain. To try and cover it completely before Mr. Bennett took notice and started asking questions, Cassandra decided.

"All right. You can help us. We'll leave at 3 a.m. while it's still dark."

* * *

" **Soon! Soon the wretched Guardians will be no more! Everything has gone splendidly!** "

He remained silent while the creature howled and cackled with maniacal laughter. He would've grimaced had it been within his power to do so—the noise was giving him a splitting headache—but it wasn't, so he didn't.

" **Quit complaining!** " the creature snapped. It wasn't laughing anymore, its gathering fury almost palpable in the shadowed underground realm. " **Nearly two thousand years and you** _ **still**_ **haven't stopped sniveling. I've never known a spirit to bitch as much as you. It's pathetic!** "

He cleared his thoughts as best he could, but it was hard. Whenever the creature got into this sort of mood, his existence was reduced to little more than a lingering presence in the back of his own mind. It was hard enough censoring his thoughts while he _was_ in control so as to avoid offending his "compatriot", but how could a faint glimmer of consciousness possibly reduce itself even further without disappearing completely?

" **Oh shut up. You won't disappear. One would think that after being forgotten and abandoned by the humans** _ **twice**_ **you would've learned that by now, stupid twit.** "

He said nothing, thought nothing. It was safer that way.

" **Finally I will have my revenge,** " the creature murmured with glee, completely ignoring him once more. " **That wretched rabbit is as good as dead, and Frost is little more than a blubbering mess. With the others so strained, so** _ **enraged**_ **at one other—** " he chuckled, deep and dark and foreboding, "— **this will be an easy victory. I suppose I ought to thank you, imbecile: had you not offered to befriend the child-arbiter this would've been so much harder to pull off. You actually managed to prove yourself useful for once. I'm almost impressed.** "

Almost. He didn't allow himself to feel disheartened by the inclusion of that word. Disappointment was an indication of lingering hope, and he'd long since come to expect nothing more than the exceptionally rare backhanded compliment. Nothing he ever did was ever good enough.

" **What have you ever done to be worthy of praise? You ruined my plans for the Dark Ages, failed miserably time and again to recover from that debacle, and the one time I concede and give you complete control of the plans and of your body, what do you do? You completely** **fuck it up! When will you learn that everything you do wrong reflects poorly upon** _ **me**_ **?!"**

In spite of his best efforts, bitterness leeched out into his mind. The creature inevitably picked up on it.

It snarled, " **You have the gall to feel sorry for yourself! You were the one who allowed a couple of mortal brats to defeat you! You should have wrung their scrawny little necks and been done with it!** "

He dared to speak up for himself. "I won't kill children. I won't."

" **Why not? Are you scared? Are you** _ **scared**_ **, spirit of fear? Are you** _ **scared**_ **of hurting poor, innocent children?** "

He was used to the sneering, to being belittled. He would not back down on this.

"If I kill, Issitoq will punish me, and by extension that means you will be punished too."

" **I know that, you little shit! Do you think I'm stupid?!** "

"I—"

" **SHUT UP!** "

He was struck dumb immediately, shoved back into the furthest reaches of his own mind, rendered nothing more than a tiny, pathetic speck.

" **You have no right to talk back to me. I have done** _ **everything**_ **for you, and what have you given me in return? Nothing! NOTHING! You cower and hide and crawl on your belly like a dog before the Guardians. You trap me in this rotting shithole you call a realm. You surround me with crumbling beasts of sand that betray you the first chance they get. I give you the opportunity to redeem yourself after single-handedly** _ **destroying**_ **my dark, perfected Europe, and you throw it away because you don't have the guts to put your hands on a child! AND YOU DARE SPEAK BACK TO ME?!** "

He said nothing, did nothing. He could not have done or said anything even if he'd wanted to, and he didn't want to. He knew it was useless.

" **Tomorrow night,** " the wretched creature commanded, " **you will go out into that horrid little town and stir up nightmares. They are to be** _ **bold**_ **, they are to be** _ **wretched,**_ **and they are to be of** _ **my**_ **design! Then, when the Guardians come, you are not to interfere while I destroy them.** "

He dared to speak, just one more time. "I can help."

The creature snorted out a laugh. " **Yes, you can help, but shutting up and leaving the battle to me. You had your chance, speck, and you failed. Miserably. Now it is my turn.** "

"The Guardians are cunning. They've already beaten us twice, so how can you be sure that a direct assault—"

" **No, they bested** _ **you**_ **twice. During the Dark Ages I worked through you, and that was clearly a mistake. One battle and you were driven out of Europe like a whipped animal. Twenty years ago you served only yourself, and look at how you faired then. No. No, this time** _ **I**_ **will be the one to destroy them. Let us see how they fare now that they are three, now that they face** _ **me**_ **and not some cowardly spirit who likes to pretend he is intelligent and important.** "

 _I am important._

The thought carried through his consciousness before he could stop it, and the moment it passed he knew what he had just done.

The creature leered, " **Oh, you are, hmm? Tell me, wretch: what is your name?** "

He said nothing.

" **What is your name?** "

He did not respond.

" **Tell me.** "

It was no longer a request, but a demand. And so he said it.

" **And tell me, little spirit: how many know that name, hm? Spirit or human, mortal or immortal, how many creatures know of you by that name?** "

Again, he did not respond. This time the creature laughed at his silence, low and cruel.

" **You are nothing,** _ **Nightmare King**_ **.** " It said it on a sneer, making a mockery of the one title he'd ever deigned to give himself, the only one he'd ever felt truly proud of. " **But that is of no consequence. Once the Guardians are destroyed, nothing will stop me. Through me,** _ **because**_ **of me, your name will live on through eternity. Is that not what you wanted? To be remembered? Answer me, Boogeyman.** "

"…yes. That was what I wanted."

" **And I will give you what you want. Unlike you, I actually keep my promises.** "


	26. Knowledge

Author's Note:

Oh...my...god... I didn't think I'd _ever_ get this chapter done, between work and college and the simple fact that this chapter did _not_ want to cooperate and leave my brain in any sensible manner. Ugh. But! It's done now. (Yay!) Thank you so very, very much to all of you, my patient readers, reviewers, followers and favorite button clickers. You've all stuck with me on this, through thick and thin, and I deeply appreciate it. *bows*

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** I'm so glad you think that way, I was honestly worried people would get mad about how I handled it. I know it's a very, _very_ sensitive subject, and I absolutely didn't want to come across like I wasn't taking it seriously. So it's good to hear that it came across nicely (...well, as nicely as it could, considering the subject matter). Yes, Cassandra is now twelve; it's late May in the story and her birthday was at the end of March. As for Pitch's name, well, you'll be learning more about what's going on with that.

 **SilversunXD:** My thoughts exactly.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** In this story, Jamie is in his late 20s, early 30s, and Sophie is in her early to mid 20s. No, neither of them are married, but let me reiterate there are _no_ pairings in this fic, so no need to feel paranoid about anything. Strictly platonic on every possible level. :)

 **Skyress1:** Yes, the parasite knows Pitch's name, but it was trying to make a point. It's basically showing Pitch that it considers him a useless sack of waste, 'cause, as you so aptly put it, its a M.O.B. There's also another matter with Pitch's name that I can't discuss because of spoilers *cough cough* but it'll make more sense as we continue forward.

 **PhoenixFantastic:** Thank you!

 **starthedetective:** Thank you for the praise. :D And, yes, his situation really does suck.

 **Momochan77:** Please keep it together, the rest of the fic won't be quite as bad as that last chapter...I don't think.

Before I forget, some of you may have noticed that I recently tweaked the story's summary to include warnings about language and such, because I was getting quite a few comments about it. I am also seriously considering switching the rating from Teen to Mature because of the language and discussions/subjects in later chapters, but I wanted to get your opinion before I do so since I'm actually a pretty poor judge of what's considered acceptable for each rating. Should I switch it, or should the warnings be enough?

 **Warning:** There's nothing too serious in this chapter, but please be aware that there is a brief mention of abusive/controlling relationships. It's only like 2-3 sentences, but please be mindful as it could be considered disturbing or upsetting to some people.

Again, thank you all for your patience, and please enjoy.

* * *

At promptly two-forty-five a.m., Cassandra's alarm went off. After whacking the button to shut it up, she rubbed her hands over her eyes to clear out the lingering blurriness then padded to the bathroom on bare feet. Just as she was about to push the door closed behind her, she caught sight of Mr. Bennett at the far end of the hall, making his way towards the kitchen.

"Morning," he said, gesturing amicably with his coffee mug before disappearing again.

Cassandra made no attempt at a response, just shut the door and headed to the sink.

Upon reaching it, she stopped short, hand frozen just above the bottle of face wash.

She hadn't heard Mr. Bennett leave the living room. Nor had she heard a single alarm go off, apart from her own, yet someone had obviously been up long enough to make coffee. Thinking back, Cassandra remembered earlier in the night when she and Barb had been arguing in the bathroom and Mr. Bennett had come up behind her without her noticing.

It couldn't be…

Closing her eyes, Cassandra strained her ears, listening to the sounds of the house. She could hear murmuring voices through the walls, but could not determine what was being said, or even who exactly was speaking. As for the creaking and rattling, the sloshing of water through the pipes, and whistling of the wind against the windows—all the noises she'd grown accustomed to hearing and had long since learned to ignore… They were gone.

Hardly daring to believe it, Cassandra drew a long, deep, experimental breath. Almost immediately her eyes snapped open again. She couldn't smell anything beyond the bathroom walls. She could smell soap, the faint tang of strawberry from an open bottle of shampoo, and the lingering scent of bleach from when Barb had scrubbed the bathroom the other day. But apart from that, there was nothing. Not even the vaguest hint of coffee.

 _What the heck?_

Cassandra stuck out her foot and rapped it sharply against the cheap tile of the bathroom floor. A tunnel opened up, but it was very sluggish in doing so, and she could tell right away that the pathway wouldn't take her far. To the outskirts of Burgess if she was lucky.

Understanding struck her like a punch to the stomach: Her magic was weakening.

She hurried through washing her face and getting dressed, wondering what it could mean. Issitoq had said that her powers would shift as a spirit became more or less suited for being picked for the rite, yet that couldn't explain why her rabbit's powers were fading. The annoying spirit had _attacked_ her, for crying out loud, and scarcely a week ago at that. Yet now all of a sudden he wasn't worthy of being chosen anymore? How was that supposed to make any sense?

Barb and Mr. Bennett both blinked in surprise when Cassandra practically ran into the kitchen. She'd been fully prepared to share this new development with them, but at the very last second decided against it. There was no point burdening Barb with something the woman could neither change nor explain, and why give Mr. Bennett more information to pass on to his Guardian friends?

So instead of telling them about her weakening senses, she muttered an apology and took a seat at the table. She then busied herself with loading up her plate with scrambled eggs.

"That's all right," Barb replied with a small laugh as she passed the girl a fresh piece of toast, which was readily accepted. "I know you're anxious to get going."

"How are we getting there?" Mr. Bennett inquired. He drained the last of his coffee before continuing, "I gave you my last snow globe, and I don't think our Cadejon friend here will be able to carry us that far."

"It is nearly summer," Salvaguard noted. "In winter I can cross to the Pole on the Arctic ice, but by now the pathways will have melted."

"What about your tunnels?" Mr. Bennett asked Cassandra, who choked down her mouthful of egg before conjuring up an excuse.

"Do you know how far of a trip that is by foot?"

He conceded with a shrug, "Good point." Then he beamed. "You can carry us. Jack was always able to carry people when he flew. His magic sort of rubbed off on us, made us light as a feather whenever he held onto us."

"I don't know if I can," Cassandra admitted. "I've never tried carrying other people. And my magic doesn't always work like the Guardians' does. I've never been able to make others dream, for example, only myself."

"Really? Huh. Well, it's still worth a try, right?"

"Besides, I only have two hands. How could I carry both of you and Salvaguard?"

He slumped back in his seat, his every feature reading defeat. Yet Cassandra's next suggestion helped ease that disappointment.

"The waters in the north may be too warm to hold a permanent path, but I think I'll be able to frost it over long enough for Salvaguard to cross."

"Are you sure it will hold? Both Jamie and I will have to ride him," Barb pointed out.

Salvaguard reassured her, "It will hold long enough. Upon my back, you two weigh little, similar to how Jack Frost is able to fly with his believers. And as fast as I run, _Señora,_ the ice will only need to hold my weight for a moment. The only question," he said, turning to address Cassandra, "is whether or not you can keep up."

The girl replied matter-of-factly "We'll have plenty of time between here and the northern seas to figure it out."

Rising from her seat, she moved to the sink with her dishes. As Barb had said, she was anxious to get going.

"Wear a jacket," Barb instructed. "Even if its spring, it will be chilly, especially with the wind. And I don't care if you can't feel the cold," she added when Cassandra opened her mouth. "Wear a jacket."

Cassandra conceded simply because she didn't want to waste time and energy arguing. She returned to the room to grab a lightweight windbreaker, stuffing her iPod into one pocket and Pitch's tooth case into the other. Then, almost as an afterthought, she returned to her backpack and pulled out her cloak.

Holding it in her hands, she studied the black material pensively. Why had Pitch given this to her? The obvious reason was to keep the Guardians at bay by putting himself in a position to file grievances against them, but was the answer really as simple as that? Perhaps there had been some hidden purpose to his giving the gift, one she had yet to figure out…but that would entirely depend on whether it had been Pitch's idea to give her the cloak, or the parasite's. And even if it had been Pitch's idea, he may have come up with it simply as a means to get in the parasite's good graces.

Cassandra's jaw tightened. It was painfully clear that she didn't understand Pitch Black nearly as well as she'd thought. He'd always been something of an enigma, what with the way he spoke in riddles yet wore his emotions on his sleeve, but after spending so much time conversing with him and contemplating his character she'd believed that she had started to figure him out. To have that belief suddenly and unceremoniously pulled away was incredibly disconcerting. Was _anything_ the Nightmare King had ever said or done in her presence of his own volition? That thought alone threw virtually every interaction they'd had into question. If she had to guess, the principle of not harming children was probably Pitch's own; Cassandra couldn't imagine a creature that thrived by infecting other spirits as being leery of attacking children, especially ones who had supported the Guardians in defeating its host body. But apart from that, she honestly could no longer distinguish between truth and façade, forced by or because of the parasite residing inside him.

"Cassandra?"

Roused from her thoughts by Barb's concerned voice, Cassandra donned the cloak and hastened back to the others. Both the blonde and Mr. Bennett raised quizzical brows at her inclusion of the garment, but thankfully neither chose to comment.

The moon was nearly full that night, providing ample light to guide their way. Not wanting to be spotted on accident, Cassandra remained in the shadows until the group was safely out of Burgess. She then re-solidified and took to the sky, but stuck to flying just a few feet above the human-bearing Cadejon. Yet safety and practicality, she soon realized, were the least of her concerns, for much to her shock it took far more effort to remain airborne than it had on previous flights. She wasn't in any imminent danger of falling, yet the difference was more than apparent. Just what the heck was happening to her magic lately?

At the moment, the problem was the least of her concerns, so she pushed it aside for future consideration. For now, Cassandra focused on keeping up with Salvaguard. He ran fast, that Cadejon, far faster than Cassandra could ever hope to fly. It took time to work out a system between them, so that by the time their strange little group reached the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean, Cassandra could fly ahead of him as planned. The ice path she shaped wasn't thick by any means, but it lasted long enough to serve its purpose. In the shocking quiet of the empty north, the oddly-pitched clatter of his claws was obnoxiously loud, even to Cassandra's newly desensitized ears.

It was nearing five a.m. when Cassandra finally touched down outside North's workshop. The sun was barely visible over the distant horizon—typical for the summer, when the Arctic never grew dark—and cast a faint glow over the lingering snow. Barb and Mr. Bennett both took in the scenery with wonder-filled eyes as they slid off Salvaguard's back.

"Beautiful," Barb murmured.

"Yeah."

"Come on," Cassandra said, striding purposefully past Mr. Bennett towards the door. "You're here to deal with yetis, not ogle at glitter."

"Meanie," he muttered, earning himself a roll of the eyes. What was he, ten?

Despite the early hour, the workshop was alive with the banging and rattling of toy making. There were a few brainless elves stumbling about, but most of them appeared either half-asleep or drunk. It was hard to tell with them.

Four large yetis stood guard just inside the front door. Glowering, all four stepped forward in unison only to freeze a moment later, gaping at them with wide eyes.

To the nearest yeti, Mr. Bennett said amicably, "Hey Phil. We need to use the library."

The yeti in question—How the hell could the man tell them all apart?—stared between him, Barb, and Cassandra, shock and confliction warring on his hairy face. His companions' expressions mirrored his to absolute perfection.

Mr. Bennett didn't wait for a reply. Without breaking stride, he walked right past the stupefied Phil, patting him on the shoulder with a cheerful, "Thanks, Phil, I owe ya."

Salvaguard followed on the man's heels without sparing the yetis a second glance. Barb, on the other hand, couldn't take her eyes off them as she trailed after her Cadejon protector. Cassandra brought up the rear of the group, and like Salvaguard she didn't bother with the yetis now that she knew they weren't going to attack.

Mr. Bennett led them through the workshop, past more staring yetis and drunk-looking elves, to a doorway in the very back of the building. Through the door was a contraption similar to North's elevator, only it ran horizontally along a track instead of vertically. Said track disappeared into a tunnel that appeared illuminated by little more than a couple of faintly-glowing lanterns. Ample light didn't appear necessary, however, for all it took was a press of a button and the transport was moving.

A few uneventful minutes later, it came to a halt at a platform that opened up into a truly enormous room.

"Told you it was huge," Mr. Bennett said dryly, having noted the stunned looks on his companions' faces.

"This is room one?" Cassandra asked as she stepped off the transport.

"Yep. And this…" Mr. Bennett strode across the room until he stood a good ninety feet away. "Is row eleven."

Crossing the room as well, Cassandra peered down the aisle. "All of that?" she uttered incredulously. It seemed to go on forever, and stood taller than she was herself. Even on tip-toe, she knew she wouldn't be able to reach the uppermost shelves.

"Both sides of this shelving unit," he confirmed.

Her shoulders slumped. Excluding the middle section, which was piled high with scrolls, there had to be well over a thousand texts contained within that one row. It was going to take forever to find what she needed, even with Barb and Mr. Bennett helping.

Barb, who had come over to join them, said with a resigned sigh, "Well, standing around isn't going to get us anywhere." Stripping off her jacket, she threw it across the back of a nearby chair. "Come on. Let's see what we're working with."

With Salvaguard keeping watch back at the platform, the three of them split up, walking the row at varying speeds. Few of the tomes were labeled, so they had to pull some down at random and open them up to see what they contained.

"This almost seems like a history section," Mr. Bennett called. He'd taken the opposite side from Barb and Cassandra.

"Or a biography section," Barb called back. She came over to Cassandra to show her one of the books she'd found. "This one here seems to be entirely about a single individual. A dark spirit, judging from these sketches."

Cassandra nodded, studying the pictures.

The woman continued, in a voice loud enough for Mr. Bennett to hear, "I'm just worried about being able to read the book once we find it. Not all of these are in English."

"Yeah," Mr. Bennett agreed. "I've found a couple that looked like they were written in Sanskrit or runes or something."

"Do the books seem to be grouped in any particular order?" Cassandra questioned. "By topic or type of spirit maybe?"

The man's response dashed what little hope she still had that finding the book would be easy. "I'm pretty sure it's alphabetical by author, like human libraries. But since not all of them are in English…"

"Great," Barb grumbled, stuffing the book she'd found back onto the shelf. "So how do we go about this then? Apart from asking your friend Santa Clause for help, I don't think we'll be able to find anything without some sort of game plan."

"We're not asking him," Cassandra said at once.

"Of course not, sweetheart, I was just making a point that we're looking for a needle in a pile of needles when none of us are sewers."

She thought for a moment. In the meanwhile, Mr. Bennett came around the corner to rejoin them. He stood next to Barb in silence while Cassandra considered the problem.

"Let's rule out the non-English ones for now," she decided. "It'll save us a lot of headache if we just focus on the ones we can read first. We'll either find what we're looking for, or we won't and then we'll know for sure that we need a translator."

"What about the scrolls?" Mr. Bennett asked, eyeing the nearest parchment-laden shelf.

"I think we can ignore them for now, too. Pitch didn't gain power until the Dark Ages, and if we assume the parasite infected him within a relatively short time prior to that, the scrolls will be too old to contain any pertinent information."

"How do we know that, though?" Mr. Bennett asked. When Cassandra glared at him, he balked a bit but stood his ground, arguing his point. "How do we know that the parasitic spirit isn't much older than Pitch? If it is, then the scrolls would actually be the best place to start looking. Books didn't overcome the use of scrolls until sometime around the sixth century, and it's pretty easy to tell that most of these scrolls are easily that old."

Barb countered his argument with one of her own. "But if it _is_ that old, and information about it is written in these scrolls, we won't be able to recognize it even if we see it. I may not be a history buff by any means, but I know English didn't become one of the predominant world languages until much later in history. These scrolls could be in Latin, Ancient Greek, Egyptian hieroglyphics, Aramaic, Sanskrit, Germanic… Hell, they could be in caveman pictographs for all we know."

"A lot of these works have Russian and English translations," Mr. Bennett responded. "You don't honestly think North can read all of those languages, do you? He's had to get translators himself."

"But if we're going to waste our time looking up translations for every single scroll, we might as well do the same thing for the books," the blond shot back.

Cassandra pursed her lips. The hood of her cloak wasn't up, so its calming magic had yet to take effect. As such, she was finding herself increasingly exasperated and in growing need of some Tylenol to ease the headache she could feel looming behind her temples.

"Let's ignore the scrolls for now," she reiterated, ending the pointless squabble before it got out of hand. "We can always come back to them if we need to."

As the words left her mouth, Mr. Bennett suddenly and rather unexpectedly snapped his fingers.

"Ah-ha! Wait here!"

He scurried off, disappearing amongst the seemingly endless sea of books. Barb and Cassandra exchanged glances, wondering what the heck the eccentric man could be up to now.

When Mr. Bennett reappeared a few minutes later, there was an exceptionally fat book clutched in his hands. The thing was so heavy, in fact, that when he led them over to a nearby table and dropped the tome onto it, a dull thud echoed around the room.

"North showed me this once," he explained to his confused companions. "He told me it's a reference guide to the spirit world, a sort of magical census. Any spirit that exists, or once existed, their name will be written in here." He patted the worn leather cover. "It won't give us details, just names, but it's a good place to start, right?"

"Is it alphabetized?" Cassandra wondered.

"No. The names are added in ascending order, meaning the very oldest will be at the bottom right corner of the last page. Working your way up and left, you will find spirits that are progressively newer, until you reach the front—" He opened the cover to reveal a page that was only three-quarters full. "—where you'll find the very youngest."

"Frost is there," Barb noted, pointing out the frost spirit's name near the top of the left-hand column, which barely reached halfway up the page. "I didn't know he was so young."

"By spirit standards, three hundred years is nothing. But I think you'll find spirits disappear more often than you think. Either they're forgotten and disappear, or some change in human psyche renders them purposeless, causing them to fade away. Infighting's apparently a big problem as well."

His expression grew grim. "North's told me a few stories. Apparently there was a time, when humans and spirits first came into existence, when competition for believers was fierce and bloody. Spirits didn't think twice about killing one another. Issitoq quickly sorted them out and enforced order, but before he did so it wasn't at all uncommon for a spirit to be replaced five or six times in the matter of a few decades."

If that were true, Cassandra thought, it would explain why Morsoi was so determined to prevent a breakout of war over adult believers. Being four thousand years old, he had probably witnessed and survived (and probably even participated in) the previous slaughter, and didn't wish to see a repeat of past mistakes.

Rather than voice these thoughts aloud, Cassandra focused on something that had caught her eye: While Frost's name and nearly all the others printed on the page were written in dark black ink that stood starkly against the yellowing pages, there were two that were faded nearly to the point of being invisible. Surely it wasn't age taking its toll, considering what Mr. Bennett had said about it being a magical tome.

Curious, she pointed to the names and inquired, "Why are these two names so much lighter than the others?"

"Faded names indicate those who are no longer in existence," Mr. Bennett quietly replied.

Nodding her understanding, Cassandra began to flip through the book. As she searched, she explained, "The parasite had to have come into existence around the same time as Pitch, if not before, so if we find Pitch's name in this book we'll be able to narrow down the list of spirits we need to investigate. We'll also be able to tell, based on how old he is, whether or not we can rule out the scrolls."

Beaming with pride (apparently at her deduction skills, though she couldn't even begin to explain why that would make him happy), Mr. Bennett told her, "Exactly what I was thinking! It's not a terrific start, but I thought it would be better than nothing."

The room grew quiet after that, save for the flipping of pages. Cassandra wound up locating the four older Guardians' names first—it was simply impossible to miss a designation as stupid as _E. Aster Bunnymund,_ even if one wasn't actively looking for it. Using the cluster of names as a reference point, Cassandra put her hand on the page to indicate her place while she scanned the twenty or so pages that remained. Coming up short, she turned back to her marked place and looked again.

Frowning deeply, she looked a third time before whispering in utter disbelief, "He's not here."

"What?" Mr. Bennett said, leaning close to look over her shoulder.

"Pitch Black. His name's not in here."

"That's impossible. Of course he's in there."

She pushed the book to him. "You find it, then."

Mr. Bennett scoured the pages, his lips moving almost imperceptibly as he silently read each name. His finger brushed along the ancient pages, singling out each moniker individually to ensure none were overlooked. Yet in spite of these added efforts, he too reached the end of the book without success.

"I don't believe it," he said, stepping back with a look of wide-eyed incredulity. "He's real, I _know_ he's real! He _has_ to be in there!"

"Maybe Pitch Black isn't his real name," Barb suggested. "It could be a pseudonym, an alias."

Mr. Bennett swore, then promptly flinched when Barb glared at him. "Sorry. But this is…this just… Why would he…?"

The blonde looked pensive. "With humans, the first thing a controlling, abusive person does is try to separate their partner from friends and loved ones. It isolates them, and makes them easier to control."

"Identity is everything for a spirit," Cassandra said. Climbing up onto the table, she sat cross-legged and drew the book into her lap. "They are proud, arrogant, the dark ones almost unbelievably so. Either the parasite forced Pitch to take his new name, or it somehow convinced him that doing so would reinforce his infamy once they took control. Instead of it being some nobody spirit of fear trying to instill the Dark Ages, it was Pitch Black, the Boogeyman, the fearsome Nightmare King."

Recalling something unexpectedly, she lifted her head to look at the two adults. "From the little I've seen of Pitch's memories, the parasite apparently infected him as part of some of agreement. It even said that without its help, Pitch wouldn't have a name."

There was a moment of stunned silence, which Mr. Bennett inevitably broke.

"Pitch has always wanted to be powerful," he said quietly, "but he wants to be believed in even more. For him, the two desires have always gone hand-in-hand—he truly believes he cannot have one without the other, and that's probably what the parasite used to get him to accept whatever terms it set."

"Spirits don't have to be powerful to be believed in?" Barb inquired, confused.

"Of course they don't. The Guardians only have their power _because_ of belief, they aren't believed in because of their power. And other spirits, like Morsoi and Issitoq, are enormously powerful yet have never been known or recognized by humans…at least not before us. As diverse and complex as human-spirit relationships are, it would be impossible for one set rule to properly govern all of them."

"But the Guardians weren't around back then, so there probably wasn't any basis on which Pitch could make such a connection." Cassandra was starting to feel a little sick to her stomach; she reached up and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head before continuing. "And even though he was weak and ignored, he was probably too proud to actively seek clarification. Asking those kinds of questions would only invite others to mock him."

"What are you suggesting?" Mr. Bennett said.

Cool and rational thanks to her cloak's magic, she answered, "Pitch allowed the parasite to infect him. That was his end of the agreement. It got a host body, and he, in return, was supposed to get additional power to help him gain belief, without anyone being the wiser. Things obviously worked out well enough, until the Guardians came and ended the Dark Ages. After that…all bets were off."

"The parasite began to exert more control, becoming more dominant and pushing Pitch's own will and desires aside," Barb deduced. She shook her head, looking as ill as Cassandra had felt before the cloak's magic restored her composure. "Everything is fine and wonderful until that first fight. Nothing is ever the same again after that."

It was a terrible yet increasingly appropriate comparison.

"So what do we do?" Mr. Bennett asked, glancing pointedly at the book in Cassandra's lap.

"We could ask Salvaguard if he knows Pitch's real name," Barb suggested.

"I think he would've mentioned it by now if he knew," Cassandra told her truthfully.

The woman shrugged. "I'll go ask anyway. Better safe than sorry."

She dashed off, but returned shortly afterward, looking dejected. Neither Cassandra nor Mr. Bennett needed to ask what the Cadejon's answer had been.

"Now what?" the annoying man inquired.

"We have two starting points, yes?" Once again holding her place at the Guardians' names with one hand, Cassandra flipped through the last few pages until she found another familiar name. She indicated these two places in the book. "Here are the Guardians, and here's Morsoi. Pitch has to be somewhere in between. Look to see if you can find anything about these spirits, anything at all. Even if it's something as simple as a sketch or a notation, it'll help us rule out names until we're down to a few. If we can figure out what Pitch's real name is, we'll have a tighter time reference in which to look for this parasite."

She passed the book to them so they could study the selection. After a brief discussion, the pair walked away with five names apiece—a small put practical start.

"Be sure to keep an eye out for anything about spirits of fear," Mr. Bennett called as Barb moved away down the row. "We may just get lucky."

"I know, I know."

The two of them were soon at it in earnest, pawing through volumes great and small in what was becoming an increasingly desperate quest. Cassandra pulled the reference book back into her lap and began to pick out her own list of names to research. She paused midway through turning a page when something Morsoi had said last night suddenly crossed her mind:

"'We spirits do not speak of it. To utter its name is to summon its attention.'"

She stared dumbly for a moment, certain that if she hadn't been wearing the cloak her heart would've been beating right out of her chest. Lifting cautious eyes to the humans across the room, she found them satisfactorily preoccupied and so returned her gaze to the worn, aged pages before her.

…did she dare?

Unburdened by emotion, Cassandra quickly reached her decision. There were only five nights left before the conclusion of the rite, and Pitch was infected by a controlling parasitic spirit; they simply couldn't afford to waste time stumbling blindly through the library. If drastic measures could point them in the right direction, then drastic measures she would take.

The first name left her mouth on the faintest breath of air. Caution quieted her words, not only because she didn't know what would happen when she spoke the parasite's name aloud, but also because she _did_ know what would happen should either Barb or Mr. Bennett discover what she was up to. One by one she worked her way through the list, speaking every name just as quietly as the first. She paused briefly after each utterance to see if something would happen. When nothing did, she moved on, and soon found herself on the very page on which Morsoi's name rested. She skipped it for obvious reasons and, finding the rest of the page blank, turned to the next.

It was then she realized the last six pages were almost entirely washed out—faded memories of those that had already come and gone. A quick examination revealed only four more names to be read: the Man in the Moon's, which was located towards the middle of the first remaining page; one Cassandra didn't recognize, situated toward the bottom right corner; Issitoq's, of course, which she found near the bottom of the last page, revealing just how old the Adjudicating Eye truly was; and at the top left corner of the last page, a second unknown name. The second and third pages were entirely devoid of living spirits, a fact that pricked at Cassandra's heart, even with the cloak shielding her. It was one thing to hear stories about mass killing, and another entirely to see such destruction documented like this.

 _No wonder Issitoq is so obsessed with keeping order. It's not only a matter of it being his purpose, it's to prevent something like this from ever happening again. Morsoi understands, too, because he witnessed it, and that's why Issitoq didn't interfere when he tricked Coach Sophie into losing her belief._

This was the world she was being forced into, a world of supernatural, arguably immortal beings where a single powerful entity was responsible for maintaining the exceptionally delicate balance between reluctant harmony and complete destruction. And Issitoq wondered why she didn't want to become a spirit.

Steeling herself for whatever might happen, Cassandra read the first unknown name in a tense whisper. Nothing happened, so she turned to the very last page of the book. Had it not been for the cloak, she was fairly certain she would've been shaking. This was a monster she'd only ever faced in her nightmares, and she knew that in drawing its attention there was a real possibility something could go terribly wrong.

Yet it had to be done.

When she spoke the final name aloud, it was as if clawed hands latched onto her mind, snatching her out of reality and throwing her violently into darkness.


	27. Darkness is Deepest

Author's Note:

Turns out I have so many reasons for why this chapter is late it's just gonna sound like whining, so I'm just going to humbly apologize *deep bow* and move on.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** There was one line in particular that I was conflicted about whether or not to change, because I wasn't sure if it was too on the nose or not, but I took your advice about subtly and went back and changed it. Hopefully it reads better now. :)

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Yeah, it was a bit dumb, but she's twelve and they're running out of time. As for how they knew where to look in the book for the parasite's name...as explained in the chapter, they're guessing. They know it has to be at least as old as Pitch, if not older, considering what Morsoi told them about it, and they know for a fact that Pitch is older than the Guardians. So when they couldn't find Pitch's name in the book, they instead found the Guardians' names and decided to work backward. The plan was to research each name in turn (in row eleven) until they found information on either the parasite or Pitch...which of course would take forever, which is why Cassandra decided to just say the names aloud and hope nothing too terrible happened.

 **Silversun XD:** *Evil grin*

 **Skyress1:** Yes, old spirits can be grouchy too, especially this parasite. (Seriously, I hate him and I _created_ the dumb bastard). Lol.

 **Momochan77:** I completely understand being busy...it did take me a whole month to get one chapter out, after all. But it seems you enjoyed it, and I'm glad. :)

 **Janusscientes:** Hey, welcome back! Glad to hear from you again. :D I feel both a bit embarrassed and deeply pleased that you like my stories so much, and hopefully you enjoy the rest of the story.

Speaking of which, I believe it is only fair to tell you that depending on chapter lengths and whether or not some sudden plot twist decides to attack me out of the blue (which is highly doubtful at this point, but just in case...), there's only three or four more chapters left in this story, including an epilogue. So be prepared! The climax is almost here.

Thank you all so very, very much for your continued patience, and please enjoy. :D

* * *

He blinked. Like a heavy fog being lifted, he could suddenly see and hear and feel everything clearly. This was the closest he'd come to complete independence in a long, long time, and for a brief moment he was extremely confused as to why it had happened. With understanding came a nauseating mixture of anxiety and hope. It wasn't gone, not completely, for its physical form was still inside him, but its _presence_ —both its magic and its attention—were completely diverted. He had seconds—perhaps, if he was lucky, even minutes—during which it would be completely unaware of what he was doing.

Naturally his first, purely instinctive thought was to flee, but of course the very notion was stupid. Sooner or later the creature would return, and if it caught him even attempting to escape there would be hell to pay. It was quite vindictive, that wretched creature, and horribly creative when it came to cruel punishments. He knew this well, and unfortunately his Nightmares did too. They were his creations, and his alone, for even when it usurped his power the monster inside him had never been able to successfully shape one. (Neither of them had ever been able to figure out why, though of course such failing inevitably fell upon _his_ shoulders, despite the countless times it had called him stupid and praised its own greatness. Surely a creature so great and so intelligent should've been able to find the answer with ease, with or without the help of the local idiot.) The mares of course weren't stupid, they could always tell which of them was in control at any given time, yet his pretty little creations had learned to obey unquestioningly regardless of the circumstance. For while he treated them with affection and genuinely cared for their well-being, even if he did grow irate with them from time to time, it treated them like slaves, forever insulting them and shrieking at them, lashing out at them whenever it was angry and physically punishing them for even the smallest of slights. It ruled them through pain and terror and ruthlessness, and as it resided in his body they naturally began to associate those horrid things with him. They were now wary of him no matter who was in charge, and the mares' relationship with their true master was only growing more strained with each passing night.

He shook himself slightly; now was not the time for melancholic thoughts. Right now he needed to act, before its consciousness returned to his body and prevented him from doing _anything_ useful.

Slipping into the shadows, he went straight to the throne room. Most of the Nightmares were gathered there, as he knew they would be. Also as expected were the flinches and nervous whickers when they saw him. But then they saw his eyes, how bright and clear they were, and his face, how relaxed it was, and immediately knew that for once the foul creature was not in charge. Onyx approached him at once, but stopped with her head cocked curiously to one side when she saw both the determined look in her master's eye and the grim set of his mouth.

Without a moment to spare for elaboration, he commanded the mares: "Do whatever she tells you."

* * *

Once Jamie, the arbiter, the Cadejon, and the strange blonde human were out of sight, the yetis gathered round. Huddled close, they argued briefly but fiercely about what they ought to do. The initial inclination was to get word out to North, who would want to know about the—intruders? unannounced visitors?—but since the big man was currently in the Warren (where he wasn't supposed to be) there was significant concern that calling him back would draw unwanted attention to the Guardians, thus ruining their carefully-laid plan. There were some, however, who vehemently argued that it was vital they tell North regardless of the risk. Jamie was able to talk to them again, they reasoned, meaning the Adjudicating Eye had rescinded his judgment. But the arbiter of the rite, that strange girl who was friends with Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, was also there, and who knew what that could mean. Plus there was another human in the Pole, an _adult_ human, one who could not only see them and hear them but who also had a Cadejon protecting her.

Bizarre. Simply bizarre

After three brief but tense minutes, it was decided that this was way beyond their scope of control. Had Jamie not been there, they wouldn't have hesitated to chase the visitors away, but the presence of their longtime friend completely threw them for a loop. There had to be a reason, an _important_ reason, why Jamie had brought the strange group there, and that, Phil ultimately concluded, meant getting North.

With that, the yetis sprang into action. One ran at once to North's private workspace, where he retrieved two snow globes. The first he tucked under his arm for the return journey; the other he shook briefly before smashing it against the polished wood floorboards. When the portal opened, he stepped through immediately, heading for the Warren and the Guardians.

…who hopefully wouldn't be too upset about all of this.

* * *

In the time it took Cassandra's heart to beat just once, she was gone from the library. She now stood in complete darkness with the foul creature from her nightmares crouched mere centimeters from her face. Its jaw hung open as it snarled, roped saliva dripping from its fangs.

" **So you know my name, mortal** ," it spat. With every syllable it spoke, foul, hot breath buffeted Cassandra, threatening to provoke her gag reflex. " **Yet you were fool enough to speak it. Do you think yourself so great that you are protected from me?** "

It was both infuriated and insulted by the very notion. It seemed its power and cunning were outmatched only by the depths of its own arrogance.

That was something Cassandra could work with.

The parasite jerked forward suddenly and snapped its jaws, coming within a hairsbreadth of biting into Cassandra's face. She didn't flinch, but only because the cloak's power kept her from being startled by the unexpected, highly aggressive motion.

The creature snarled, angry that its attempt to frighten and intimidate hadn't worked.

" **I knew it was foolish to give you that wretched gift,"** it hissed, mostly to itself. **"But the rat insisted it was for the best**."

"It granted you power over the Guardians," she pointed out. "The ability to file grievances put them at a significant disadvantage."

It sneered at her, " **Yes that was the argument** _ **he**_ **made as well. But the difference between him and I, mortal** _ **,**_ **is that** _ **I**_ **don't need such petty tricks as gifts and grievances to defeat the Guardians.** "

"If that is so, then how come you haven't destroyed them yet? You've already had two chances—"

" **NO!** _ **He**_ **had two chances! It was HIS weakness and HIS cowardice that cost us the battle! For centuries afterward I had to listen to him bitch and whine about how he could've beaten them if only he'd been given a proper chance! So I gave it to him, mortal! Twenty years ago I gave him the opportunity to redeem himself, and look what he did with it! LOOK AT WHAT I GOT IN EXCHANGE FOR MY LENIENCY!"**

It was strange, really. The creature was so powerful and very much enraged, and yet it had not moved to strike her down. The failed attempt at intimidation notwithstanding, the parasitic spirit hadn't done anything at all to hurt her, in spite of its obvious temper.

Perhaps…

"Maybe the problem lies with you."

The creature froze, staring at her for one heartbeat of time. And then, with narrowed eyes, it hissed in a deadly soft whisper, " **What did you say**?"

"Maybe the reason you keep failing is because you're holding him back, not the other way around."

She knew she was treading very thin ground by provoking the creature and that showing any sort of fear in its presence would be her undoing, like waving a piece of bloody meat in the face of a starving tiger. She never would've been able to pull it off without the cloak; its calming effect kept her breathing even, head high and voice steady. But even if she hadn't had it, she probably would've done it anyway, because she needed to know if her current suspicions about the place were correct.

As expected, her words infuriated the parasite. With a roar of rage it lunged for her, but Cassandra stood her ground and, amazingly, the beast passed right through her.

"Interesting," she noted in a placid tone as the creature thrashed and snarled behind her. "This is just an illusion, a place even less real than his nightmares."

" **DON'T COMPARE ME TO THAT WRETCH!** "

"Speaking your name draws your attention," she mused, completely ignoring it as it lunged for her again, only to fail just as spectacularly as it had the first time. "It draws our consciousness together, but since your physical body is currently inside a host you cannot do me harm. Nor do you have access to his power in this place." She forced a smirk to appear on her mouth in spite of her magically-induced state of calm. "Right now, I am more powerful than you are."

" **YOU ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO ME!"** it bellowed. " **YOU ARE JUST A MORTAL BITCH! A RUNT! SOME WRETCHED RAG OF FLESH THAT ISSITOQ FELT COMPELLED TO IMBUNE WITH POWER! ONCE THE RITE IS OVER, YOU WILL DIE ALONG WITH THE REST OF THE DAMNABLE GUARDIANS!"**

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

It raged at her in that strange tongue, the one it had spoken in her nightmare, the one she could never hope to understand. Thrice more it tried to attack, but all three times it simply passed through her body. The angrier it became, Cassandra noticed, the paler it became, until it was nearly translucent. When she glanced down at her own body, she discovered she was still just as solid has she ever was.

 _Speaking its name drew its attention, so it called me to this place to face me. But I know it has no power here,_ she thought, _and I do not fear it. Therefore it is losing control of the situation and, by extension, its current form._

Returning her gaze to the monster, she calmly announced, "I think it's time I go back."

" **I WILL SEE YOU TORN APART! I WILL HAVE YOUR FLESH RIPPED FROM YOUR BODY AND STUFFED DOWN INTO MY BELLY! I WILL HAVE YOUR CORPSE FLUNG FROM THE HIGHEST REACHES AND LEFT TO BE PICKED APART BY MINDLESS BEASTS OF THE WILD! I WILL HAVE YOU—!"**

As its spectral form faded away, its shrieking voice likewise diminished, until Cassandra was alone in blessed silence. Although she still had no idea where she was, she turned smoothly on her heel to begin her search for the way out. Standing around doing nothing wasn't going to get her anywhere, after all.

At least now it was quiet enough to think.

* * *

Barb and Jamie were busy scouring the shelves, looking for anything they could on the five spirits they'd each selected to research, when a loud thud distracted them. After exchanging a confused glance, they leaned around the long shelving unit to peer in the direction of the nearby table. Upon spying the source of the noise, Barb dropped her books and dashed forward, a strangled cry escaping her.

"Cassandra!" She dropped to her knees before the poor girl's limp body. "Cassandra!"

"What happened?" Jamie gasped, racing to her side. His face was white.

"You tell me! I don't know a thing about the spirit world!"

"I don't know anything about this!"

"Come on, Cassandra," Barb said in a desperate whisper. She gathered the girl's head and shoulders into her lap, cradling her gently even as she continued to beg. "Come on, sweetheart, wake up."

"She has a heartbeat," Jamie noted, having checked for a pulse in Cassandra's wrist.

"But she's growing so cold!"

And she was. It had been less than a minute since Barb had Jamie had found her, yet the woman could already feel Cassandra's body temperature dropping noticeably. Given the current circumstances, such a development was absolutely alarming.

"Are you sure you don't know anything?!"

"I'm not an expert at everything!" Jamie wailed, confusion and fear and helplessness wracking his voice, making him sound almost like a distraught child. "I only know what the others tell me!"

"What's happened?"

Barb jumped at the unfamiliar voice, but Jamie, in stark contrast, nearly sobbed in relief.

"North! North, quickly, something's happened to Cassandra!"

Santa Claus arrived on the scene to the sound of thunderous footfalls. The big, bearded man with a thick Russian accent crouched between the two humans, staring down at Cassandra with his dark brows drawn together. As her sole focus was Cassandra, Barb made no comment about the Guardian's unexplained appearance. Instead she lifted a hand to push aside the hood of that wretched cloak Cassandra had insisted on wearing, intent in her anxiousness to see the girl's face.

However, right as she made to move the dark material aside, North threw out a hand to stop her.

"Don't touch," he warned. "She is in limbo."

"Limbo?" Barb repeated in a horrified whisper even as Jamie asked, "What's that?"

He struggled for a moment to explain. "She is alive," he said at last, "but her mind is…somewhere else."

Both humans spoke at the exact same time.

"Will she die?"

"Will she stay like this forever?"

He chuckled quietly. "No. No, she won't die, and will not stay forever either. A few minutes at most."

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief and visibly relaxed, while Barb clutched Cassandra tighter. She wanted to believe it, wanted with all her heart and soul to believe it, but she refused to just blindly accept whatever this spirit said. Up until now, he and Cassandra had been at odds, practically enemies, to say nothing of the fact that he'd just suddenly appeared out of the blue. How had he known they were even there? Had those yeti creatures warned him? Why would they warn him, if Jamie Bennett was as friendly with them as he seemed to be?

Whatever the reason, Barb would not believe the Guardian's words until she saw proof with her own two eyes.

After a several long, agonizingly tense minutes, Cassandra began to stir. Beyond relieved that the big man hadn't been lying, Barb's gasp of relief very nearly turned into a laugh.

"Cassandra? Cassandra, baby girl, are you all right?"

"Yeah." Her voice was a bit hoarse, as if her throat was dry, but otherwise she seemed fine. Disentangling herself from Barb's arms, she sat up, reaching under her hood to rub at her aching forehead. Then she lifted her head to stare at North.

"I was not about to stop him," Salvaguard said. The Cadejon, who had followed North into the room, had stayed quiet and out of the way until that point. Now, he moved closer to stand beside his mistress as he added in simple explanation, "This is his realm, and I could sense no ill intent in him."

Narrow-eyed, Cassandra pointed out, "That's because you concern yourself only with Barb, and as North had no foreknowledge of her belief he couldn't have made any judgment about her, positive or otherwise."

The Cadejon scowled at her, but North laughed.

"Ah, you are smart. Sandy and Tooth were right."

Cassandra frowned. "What do you mean?" Why would North say something like that so casually, as if he wasn't even mad at the other Guardians?

North froze, shock and guilt flashing briefly across his face as blue eyes darted between her face, the wall, and back again. He was clearly fishing for a way out of the hole he'd just dug, but it was far too late. Cassandra was onto him.

"You Guardian's aren't really fighting, are you?" she said, staring hard into the spirit's bright blue eyes. Mind racing, she quickly pieced everything together. "You were only pretending to be so others would underestimate you. So you'd have the element of surprise." That realization led her to another. "You're planning on attacking Pitch, aren't you? You Guardians are trying to lure him out, to make him lower his guard. And you pulled the same trick on me to make sure I didn't find out and warn him about your trap."

"We know you like Pitch," North said quietly, not even bothering to deny a thing Cassandra had just said, "but the children must come first."

"She's a child t—" Barb started to say, anger in her voice, but Cassandra silenced her with a gesture. Now wasn't the time to bring up that particular issue, and Barb seemed to realize it, for she reluctantly listened to her ward's silent request and kept quiet.

"He isn't hurting them," Cassandra said, her attention still on North.

"Not now. Not yet. But once the rite is over, when one of us is destroyed and Bunny punished…" He eyed her grimly. "Our grief will weaken us, and make him bolder. He knows that if we can't stop him, nothing will."

Cassandra considered him for a moment before turning her head slightly to look at Barb.

"Did you know anything about this?"

It would make sense if she did—Barb had already met with the rabbit in his Warren; perhaps the ridiculous, arrogant Guardian had accidentally let something slip. Barb may have kept it from her unintentionally, not knowing the significance of such an offhanded comment. Or she may have assumed the rabbit had been trying to trick her into taking false information back to Cassandra, and so she'd kept it from her purposefully just to save Cassandra further aggravation.

Upon seeing the sheer depth of guilt in Barb's eyes, however, she began to wonder if either of those assumptions was true.

"I'm sorry Cassandra," Barb said quietly. In a very small voice, she confessed, "I…I knew about their plan. All of it. Everything I told you about my trip to the Warren was true, but I didn't tell you that Jack Frost was there too. He—they—made me promise not to mention him because they were worried about the repercussions."

Without the cloak, Cassandra knew the revelation would've infuriated her. Perhaps even hurt her to a point beyond all hope of healing. But with the cloak on, instead of feeling betrayed all emotion stayed clear of her mind, allowing her to examine the situation from a perfectly logical standpoint.

After a bit of thought, she replied, "I understand."

Barb stared at her incredulously. "You do?"

"Above everything else, you want to protect me and make me happy. When you went to the Warren you had no knowledge of the spirit world beyond the simple fact that it existed. Because of that, you had no way to know whether or not the Guardians' wishes were truly beneficial to me. If you spoke to me about Frost, and it turned out they were right, then I would be hurt along with countless others; if you did as they wanted and said nothing, only to discover later on that they were wrong, you knew you could reveal the truth to me with minimal consequence."

A few tears slipped down Barb's cheeks. "Cassandra—" she started to say, but was interrupted.

"I know without this," she tugged at the edge of her cloak, "I would be furious with you, but I am glad for it. I don't want to be a hypocrite: I kept many important things from you for a long time because I believed it to be the safest thing for me to do; you kept this from me for the same reason, because you thought it was best for me. Where my actions were selfish, yours were self _less_. You knew I would probably never trust you again if I learned the truth, but you kept your word anyway because you couldn't risk my getting hurt if they happened to be telling the truth."

Barb leaned forward and gently wrapped her arms around her ward. "I just want what's best for you," she whispered into the girl's ear.

"I know."

"So…what happened?" North inquired, breaking the silence before it even had a chance to settle over the room. At least he was keeping his normally boisterous tone to a minimum. "How did you end up in limbo?"

Glancing around, Cassandra spotted the magical census book lying open and upside-down under the table. She leaned over to grab it, pulling it into her lap and idly smoothing out the pages before turning to the very back of the book. She then lifted the tome to show North the one and only name that had affected her when spoken aloud.

When the big man saw it, his jolly red cheeks paled.

"Why would you say that name?" he breathed, blue eyes enormous. "Why would you say it? Didn't you know what would—"

"I needed to know which of these is it's true name. Speaking them aloud was simply the fastest way to accomplish that."

"But why? _Why_ do you need to know? Such a thing…it is _evil,_ worse than Pitch!"

"It's because of Pitch that we're here," Jamie admitted in a soft voice. He glanced noticeably at Cassandra, clearly checking to see if she was all right with them talking about this with the Guardian.

To his surprise, she said nothing against it. Little did he know, Cassandra had finally realized the situation was beyond her capacity to handle alone. The parasite was an ancient spirit, judging from its position in the census tome; it was both powerful enough and cunning enough to trick Pitch into making a deal with it; _and_ , subsequent to tricking Pitch, it had managed to conceal its existence inside the spirit of fear and shadow for literally centuries. She, on the other hand, was a human, a child, one whose magical abilities were constantly shifting and changing. To make matters worse, Morsoi had said the only way to get the parasite to let go of a host it was unwilling to part with was to literally break the host body down until there was no fight left in it. She couldn't—wouldn't—do that to Pitch, even if it had been within her power to do so. She would not condemn him to a long, slow, grueling death, not after the suffering he'd already endured. Truthfully she didn't want to kill him at all…but then again, she didn't want to kill anybody.

Such was the hell that was _Mutatis Mutandis_.

Yet out of all the spirits that had been selected for the rite, Cassandra felt Pitch was the least deserving of that fate. How could he be blamed for anything that had happened when most, if not all, of his personality had been forcibly shaped by the parasite dwelling inside him, and literally all of the decisions were being made without his approval or consent?

Did Issitoq not know about the parasite? It had managed to conceal its presence well enough to fool almost everyone else, except Morsoi, but Issitoq was renowned for knowing literally everything. It was how he managed to impart truly rational and sound judgments. Cassandra had a hard time believing the Adjudicating Eye, with his countless Watchful Eyes, didn't know about the parasite. But if he _did_ know, why had he chosen Pitch for the rite in the first place? He'd said only spirits close to the problem were selected, and that he hoped she'd figure out what was going on with Pitch on her own. Did that mean the Guardians were the real problem after all, and Pitch had been chosen simply due to his association to them as their enemy? But if that was the case, and she'd ultimately chosen Pitch instead of a Guardian…wouldn't that have rendered the entire rite unjust? Because her picking Pitch would mean the parasite would suffer too—even if it wasn't destroyed when Pitch was, it would still lose its host body, meaning it would have to go hunting for another—and _it_ hadn't been selected as a participant. Pitch had.

Issitoq was the spirit of justice and law—he couldn't make a decision that was unfair. To that extent, if Issitoq _had_ known about the parasite, he wouldn't have chosen Pitch as a participant in the first place as that would've meant condemning an "innocent".

Besides, what was it that he'd said? "'Your reasons for your decision would be sound, I am sure, but should you fail to see what I wish you to see then there is little more I can do to amend the present situation, and that would wound me deeply.'" No matter how she tried to wrap her brain around that, Cassandra simply couldn't imagine Issitoq saying something like that about a foul parasitic spirit. And yet…Morsoi was considered foul and wretched too, wasn't he. Was Issitoq, in his neutrality, subtly implying that just because the spirit inside Pitch was evil and existed by controlling others it didn't automatically deserve destruction? After all, it was in its nature to infect and control people, terrible and unimaginable though that may be. Surely it couldn't be punished simply for following its nature and seeing to its own needs.

Cassandra pondered it a bit more, thankful that the others were remaining quiet so she could think. If Pitch had been chosen simply because of his association to the Guardians, then why had North been exempt instead of him? It just didn't make any sense, therefore it couldn't be true. There _had_ to be a reason why Pitch was chosen, one that surely involved the parasite, because there was simply no way Issitoq didn't know about it.

So…perhaps… Did that mean Issitoq considered Pitch and the parasite one and the same? Was it _because_ of the parasite's actions using Pitch's body that Pitch was chosen? Pitch had agreed to be infected by it, after all. He'd made that deal. Was he now being punished for something that had happened many, many centuries ago, something that would lead him to attack humanity not once, but twice, and eventually bring him to this point?

But if _that_ was the case, why choose the host instead of the parasite? Why not exclude Tooth Fairy or the dream weaver as well as North, and have the parasite participate as well?

Cassandra rubbed at her forehead, frustrated, in spite of the cloak, by her inability to reach a suitable conclusion. Issitoq had said the circumstances leading up to the rite were exceptionally complicated this time, and she absolutely believed it. Everything was so horribly convoluted it was astounding.

…and that was precisely why she hadn't said anything against Mr. Bennett. It was growing clearer and clearer to Cassandra that she wasn't going to be able to deal with the situation alone. As much as she would _loathe_ having to rely on the Guardians for anything, if she was going to help Pitch she would need all the support she could get. Jamie and Barb were already helping as much as they could, the Cadejon was next to useless, as his sole concern right now was Barb, and Morsoi…well…he was Morsoi. Cassandra didn't know the spirit of pestilence and plague well enough to trust him with something like this, and besides, he would probably demand some sort of compensation in exchange for his help.

That, unfortunately, left the Guardians.

As she shifted slightly, uncomfortable from sitting on the hardwood floor for so long, a heavy weight near her hip suddenly reminded her of something. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out the protective case that held Pitch's tooth. North sucked in a breath at the sight of it, but Cassandra ignored his wariness.

"Give me a bit," she said, then activated the memories.

* * *

 _It was so much easier this time. Now that she knew for certain what she was looking for, it wasn't a matter of wading through centuries and centuries of memories. As Tooth Fairy had said, now that she knew precisely what she needed, the memories just came to her, rising to the surface to play before her mind._

 _She began where she had begun the last time: Pitch's failure in Burgess._

… _the five Guardians stood over him, looking stern and formidable but, at least in Frost's case, also somewhat amused. It seemed they found the Boogeyman's present position on his back entertaining. He was scared, terrified even, but not of_ them. _What he was truly afraid of was what was yet to come, what he was doomed to face in the light of this epic failure. His plan to regain power had been grandiose indeed, and it had worked spectacularly for quite some time. But then he grew too cocky, too confident, and far too reliant on the belief that he could sway Jack Frost to his side. In Antarctica they fought briefly, yet fiercely, before the spirit everyone knew as Pitch Black began to spew the most bizarre monologue in his attempt to make_ _Frost listen to him, hear him,_ **understand.**

 _And when Frost would not listen, the spirit known as Pitch Black broke him down into nothing, callously snapped his staff in two and left him to wallow in his pain and misery and powerlessness all alone._

… _just as Pitch himself was miserable, powerless, in pain, and completely alone._

 _But even that final, desperate attempt to get Frost to understand accomplished nothing. Frost was naïve, blinded by the Guardians' hatred and distrust of Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, and too wrapped up in his own problems to possibly see let alone comprehend another's._

" _Give me another chance."_

" **Why should I, wretch?** "

" _Give me a chance to defeat them. Let me do it on my own."_

 _The short bark of laughter elicited by that statement was as harsh and mocking as it was brief._

" **You failed to stop them with all of my power aiding you and centuries of fear coursing through your veins. What makes you think you can possibly do it now, alone, weak and worthless and forgotten?** "

 _A sharp pang of anguish knifed through Pitch's chest. The monster chuckled vilely as if it, too, knew of the misery Pitch's defeat still wrought him, even after all those centuries._

 _Still, the Nightmare King would not relent. He thrust the despair aside as he calmly reasoned, "A direct assault did not stop the Guardians last time. Subtlety is needed, and we both know that is not your greatest strength."_

" **Careful, little spirit,** " _the creature warned, sensing an insult in Pitch's words when clearly none was meant. If anything, the Nightmare King had gone out of his way to word himself carefully so as to_ avoid _unintentionally causing insult._

 _He well knew the consequences of such gross misstep._

" _I know I can destroy them," Pitch insisted. "Let me do it. Let me prove to you that I can do it, and we can both reap the benefits of their demise!"_

 _The monster thought about it for a long, tense moment. Then:_

" **Very well, Nightmare King.** " _The way it pronounced the title was immensely deprecating, as if the unseen monster found the label ironic because it believed Pitch did not deserve it in the slightest._ " **I will let you have your way, just this once. But when you fail,** " it added in a cruel purr, " **know that my fury will be boundless.** "

 _Pitch Black, the bold and wicked Nightmare King, flinched. But he was also elated. Hope surged through him, washed over his drained and anguished existence like a gush of cold water over parched earth. Cassandra felt true pity for him, then, something she hadn't felt the first time she'd seen these memories. He'd risked so much to try and break free of the parasite inside of him; he had gambled, and gambled big, only to pay the agonizing price for his failure._

 _Over and over again, Cassandra saw it. Pitch would push, only to have the parasite ruthlessly shove back, so that bit by tiny bit, over the course of many centuries, the spirit of fear and shadow was broken from within. His arrogance and pride in the face of others were nothing more than a cleverly crafted mask; in truth he was a wretched, ruined thing, forced to hide his pain because he knew that even if he somehow managed convince another that it wasn't some diabolical trick, the parasite would never allow him to be free. Worse, for countless years he refused to acknowledge to anyone, even himself, that he'd made a mistake in accepting the parasite's "help" because he didn't want to be mocked for being a pathetic failure. Power was everything to a spirit, and to openly admit that he had absolutely none would be emotionally and psychologically devastating._

 _And when he finally broke down and admitted to himself that something needed to be done about the parasite, his fear was proven true. He'd gone to Frost, a spirit associated with the Guardians yet one not—as of then at least—true to their every ideal, and one whom he'd believed to be truly capable of understanding._

 _Yet Frost, his one last hope, had scorned and mocked him, even telling him in a cold voice, "'Leave me alone!'"_

 _It had shattered him._

" **You** **stupid** _,_ **pathetic waste**! **How could you lose to such preposterous spirits?! They aren't even a decade old and you let them squander our every effort!** "

" _I only did what you told me to do! It's not as if you gave me any choice!"_

 _As the words flowed from Pitch's mouth, Cassandra could feel his hurt, his rage, his frustration and humiliation and utter helplessness._

 _But most of all, she felt his despair._

" **Do not speak to me that way! Everything you are is because of ME! Without me, you would not even have a name!** "

… _what?_

" **Centuries wasted! CENTURIES! DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!** "

" _Of course I do! I am not an imbecile! I was there too you know!"_

" **SILENCE!** "

 _Pain lanced through Pitch, effectively silencing him._

" **I should never have agreed to this! I should have found a spirit actually WORTHY of my help! I have destroyed legions! Do you hear me?! LEGIONS! I have walked this world for MILLENIA, and now I am forced to crawl on my belly like a dog before a RABBIT and a FAT MAN IN BOOTS**!

" **LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE REDUCED ME TO! WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME AFTER EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE FOR YOU**?!"

Why would you do this to yourself? _she wondered as she watched the very first battle between Pitch and the four original Guardians._ Why would you agree to be infected by something so horrible?

 _As if reacting to her very thoughts, her memory magic forced the scene to change. The battle quickly faded away, and illuminated in its place…_

 _She couldn't see anything at first. She was still witnessing the memories through Pitch's perspective, and based upon what she was feeling through him he was sitting on the ground with his head buried in his arms, face wet and legs tucked up close to his body._

 _He was crying._

 _His mind was filled with confused, turbulent thoughts. He was scared…no…petrified: he didn't know what was happening, didn't know where he was or why he was like this or what he was even_ doing _there…_

 _Trembling, Pitch lifted his head and Cassandra saw, much to her shock, that Pitch's skin wasn't gray._

 _It was white._

" **Terrible, isn't it?"**

 _Startled out of his skin, Pitch leapt to his feet at the sound of the voice, stumbling inelegantly and very nearly falling as he scrambled to get away._

" **Don't worry, little spirit,"** _the voice chuckled._ **"I won't bite."**

 _Its laughter was quiet, low and deep, like the distant rumble of thunder. Yet underneath of it Cassandra detected the faintest suggestion of hidden cunning._

 _Wary and shaking, Pitch peered out from his hiding place behind a rock. "What are you saying?" he whispered. "I am not a spirit."_

 _The parasitic spirit chuckled again. Cassandra, through Pitch's eyes, finally spotted it crouched in the shadows some distance away. It was much smaller in the memory, she noticed, than it had appeared in her nightmare and in limbo, and seemed far less intimidating now that it had adopted an appearance that was noticeably lacking in fangs and all but two of its many eyes._

 _An illusion, Cassandra knew, but poor, terrified, white-skinned Pitch did not know that. He flinched at the sound of the creature's mirth._

" **You are a spirit, no longer human,"** _it purred._ **"That is why they could not see or hear you. That is why they walked right through you."**

 _Pitch shuddered. He didn't want to relive that experience for as long as he lived._

… _or…existed? Did spirit's live? Were they alive or were they simply…there?_

 _He did not know._

" _Am I dead?" he inquired in a voice that quavered just a little. Normally he wasn't this pathetic—he was no stranger to death, after all—but he was still too emotionally distraught from having his friends and neighbors walk through him to bother with such a thing at the moment._

" **Yes,"** _the monster said._ **"But worry not. Humans will see you again in time."**

" _They will?"_

" **Of course. If a human believes in a spirit, then they can see and hear and touch them."**

" _But how can I get them to believe if I can't speak to them or touch them? They won't even know I'm there."_

 _That's what hurt the most. For days he'd wandered, reaching out to everyone he saw, begging for someone,_ anyone, _to just look at him, see him, hear him. To know that he was there, that he existed. But not one person had reacted. It had been absolutely devastating._

" **Easy,"** _the parasite said in response to his question._ **"You use your power."**

" _My power?"_

" **Yes. Every spirit has its place, and with it…power. Use yours to make the humans believe in you. The more who believe, the more powerful you become, and the easier it will be for others to see."**

" _But I don't know what sort of power I have," Pitch admitted. He shifted his weight from foot to foot behind his rock; he didn't know why, the strange creature—spirit?—was being nothing but helpful, yet he just couldn't shake the fact that being in its presence made him extremely uncomfortable._

" **You're the spirit of fear and shadow,"** _the creature replied without hesitation._

 _Pitch stared. "How do you know that?"_

 _It snorted._ **"When you awoke as a spirit, your very first instinct was to seek out others because you were scared. Even now, after all this time, you're still afraid."**

 _There was a rather unsubtle insult in that comment, as if the creature found sick amusement in the fact that Pitch was frightened. He angrily opened his mouth to say something defensive, but was interrupted before he could get even one syllable out._

" **And here you are, little frightened spirit, hiding in the dark. Is it because you feel safe here in the shadows?"** _Its shoulders flexed a bit, a move that wasn't quite a shrug._ **"Combined with the fact that there hasn't been a spirit of fear for a number of years, the result was obvious. Only an imbecile would've failed to realize it."**

 _Once again, the hint of insult. Pitch had to swallow thickly before posing his next question, otherwise, he knew, he would say something he might very well regret._

" _So…what am I supposed to do?"_

" **Scare humans, obviously."**

 _It made it sound so easy, but Pitch didn't have the faintest idea how he was supposed to scare people when he couldn't be seen or heard or touched. Besides, scaring people…that was something little kids did, not grown men. He just couldn't picture himself doing it, let alone accomplishing it well enough for unseeing humans to start believing in him._

 _As if reading his every thought, the creature breathed in a silky whisper,_ **"I can help you."**

 _Pitch jumped then stared wide-eyed. "What?"_

" **You're worried. Most spirits are when they first come into existence. That's why it's up to the older ones to guide them, to ensure they come into the appropriate knowledge and power for them to do their job properly. The whole of the spirit world suffers if a spirit is lacking, you see. And if a spirit fails miserably…well…either lack of human belief destroys them, or another spirit does."**

 _The words it spoke were all true, and yet Cassandra knew the parasite was twisting them significantly to suit its own needs. It wanted Pitch, and so it was dangling terrible possibilities in front of the young, naïve, hopelessly confused spirit in order to lure him in._

 _And, much to Cassandra's dismay, it was working. She felt fear lance Pitch's heart before hope flickered to life inside his stomach._

" _Is that why you're here?" he inquired. "To help me?"_

" **Yes. But I'm afraid you must help me in return."**

" _How?"_

" **While all spirits have their power, so too do they have their…shortcomings. Mine is the inability to maintain physical form for an extended period of time. If I don't, shall we say, take up residence inside another spirit's body, I disintegrate. And let me tell you, it is both difficult and** _ **exceptionally**_ **aggravating having to piece myself back together again."**

" _You mean you don't die if you…you know…"_

" **Oh, it takes far more than that to be rid of me. But it is a fate I would still rather avoid if I can."**

" _So that's all you want? To stay inside my body for a while?" Pitch thought about it before asking warily, "It's not a possession, is it?"_

" **Oh no. Both of our consciousness will remain intact. Think of it…as having a little voice in the back of your mind. That's all I'll be—a presence giving you advice, helping you gain power and belief, unless you need more, of course."**

" _And then what?"_

" **Then I will take control of your body and borrow your power. If that happens, you will trade places with me, becoming the little voice in the back of your mind. But don't worry,"** _it soothed,_ **"that will only happen if you are ill-suited for a particular circumstance. For instance, if we were in danger of being destroyed."**

 _Again, Pitch took time to think. Cassandra wanted to scream in frustration. It was obviously a trick! But such was the power of hindsight. She'd been tricked herself in a very similar fashion not so long ago, when Pitch had convinced her to accept the cloak. Clearly the spirit of fear and shadow had learned his smooth, charismatic tone and ability to twist even the most truthful of words into a cunning lie from the very best._

 _Eventually, Pitch said, "All right. I'll let you stay inside me for a while. But not forever!"_

" **Trust me, little spirit, I would hate to be trapped inside a single body forever just as much as you would hate for me to be inside you for that long. No,"** _it murmured silkily,_ **"this is only temporary."**

" _Just tell me something," Pitch cut in, speaking quickly as if worried about being interrupted. "What are you getting out of this? Except for a body, what else do you get?"_

" **Do you doubt me?"**

 _It was a rumbled warning, like the deep growl of an angry lion, but Pitch pressed on._

" _What I doubt is that you're willing to help me just to get a body. You said yourself you wouldn't die if you disintegrated, it was just annoying. Why go to the trouble of helping me when any body will do?"_

 _They stared at each other with watchful, contemplating eyes. Then the creature smiled, although with its sharp teeth and narrowed eyes, it seemed much more of a leer._

" **You are smart, little spirit. I'm glad. Fools irk me like nothing else."**

 _Shifting slightly, it continued,_ **"Yes, I get something else from this deal, but I doubt it will trouble you much at all, considering your power. What you want are believers, and what** _ **I**_ **want is the territory that has been denied me my entire existence."**

" _If you've never had it, how do you know that it's your—"_

" **BECAUSE IT'S MINE!"**

 _That shriek was the closest the parasite had come to revealing its true personality throughout the entire conversation. When it saw Pitch wince in shock, the creature quickly went into damage control mode, reverting back to its smooth, almost soothing tone._

" **Every spirit in existence has their place in this world, their realm, if you will, one they will protect at all cost. Because of what I am, my realm is not tied down to a specific building or mountain or place. It is a vast territory, one that is rightfully mine yet has been denied me for centuries. It is only natural that I want it, is it not? And you're going to help me get it. While I reside inside your body, I will help you gather believers, and with the power you glean from that belief you will help me build my realm. Is that not a fair exchange?"**

 _And Pitch, incredulously, said, "Yes," as he stepped out from behind the rock at last. "Yes, all right. I agree to this."_

" **Excellent."**

Cassandra returned to the present, a look of contemplation on her half-hidden face. The tooth case sat loosely in her hand as she remained still, processing.

Then…slowly…her eyes widened as the significance of what she'd just seen hit her with the force of a plummeting meteor. Although very little of what she'd seen was new, as most of the memories were just repeats from her first foray into the spirit of fear's past, there was a whole new _clarity_ to the visions that hadn't been there before. It was as if a thick veil had suddenly been lifted, revealing everything to her in stunning lucidity.

 _Darkness is deepest after gazing into the light._

"Cassandra?" Barb inquired quietly, at the exact same moment North murmured with concern, " _Devushka,_ are you all right?"

Cassandra looked at each of them in turn—North, Barb, Jamie, and Salvaguard—before returning her attention to the Guardian.

"Take them to the others," she instructed. "I'll be there shortly."

She knew what she had to do.


	28. Truth

Author's Note:

Hello everyone! Thank you very much to all who reviewed, favorited or followed. I deeply appreciate all the love and support you guys have given me throughout the story. As a writer (especially as a writer who, until a year ago, was very much a recluse and _never_ shared work with anyone), positive feedback and constructive criticism are both exceptionally welcome, and put a huge smile on my face. I truly cannot thank you all enough.

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Hng! Cannot. Comment. Will. Spoil. Ending!

 **Silversun XD:** It may...or it may not. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Yeah, Cassandra's pretty smart for being twelve. Plus she has the cloak, which makes her look at everything logically, so that definitely helps too.

 **Skyress1:** Yeah, it's hard for me too, imaging him with anything other than gray skin. But that's pretty much because he's such a unique character that I absolutely adore. :D But in this fic, he used to be human, and humans don't have gray skin, so that, combined with his accent, makes me think of him has having had white skin in the past.

Please enjoy everyone!

* * *

North looked like he wanted to argue with her, but ultimately bit his tongue. Her tone had brooked no argument, and through the shadows of Cassandra's cloak hood the Guardian could vaguely see the hard set of her mouth. So the big man waved his hand instead, indicating to Barb, Jamie and Salvaguard that they should follow him. Yet as he passed Cassandra on the way out, he murmured, "At the Warren, then."

A curt nod was all the response he received, but North did not mind. He still wasn't quite comfortable being around the arbiter, despite the fact that he was immune from the rite's horrible end. There was just too much bad blood between Cassandra Fisher and the Guardians, to say nothing of the fact that she was on friendly terms with Pitch, and now she was even concerning herself with… _that._

Of all the foul creatures in the world, she just had to go and involve herself with _that_ one. North, like any sensible spirit, despised the monster with all his heart, for it was the purest evil to ever exist, bar none. He could only wonder helplessly over what had brought it into the picture so unexpectedly, for each possibility was more horrid than the last. Jamie had said it had something to do with Pitch, but North couldn't imagine how or why the arrogant, self-assured spirit of fear and shadow would involve himself with the likes of that thing.

He was not looking forward to the upcoming conversation. Not one bit.

As they rode the platform back to the workshop proper, North laid a hand on Jamie's shoulder.

"It's good to see you, Jamie," he rumbled quietly, a small smile on his face. In spite of everything, he truly was glad to see his longtime friend again, safe and well.

Jamie smiled back, although it didn't quite reach his brown eyes. "You too, North. I just wish it wasn't under these circumstances."

Choosing not to exploit or explore that particular thread of conversation just yet, North simply nodded his understanding. He would save his questions for when they were all gathered together; no sense making Jamie or anyone else tell the story twice.

A group of yetis was waiting for them on the other end of the track, unarmed but clearly tense. One of them punched his fist into his other palm, a clear warning, just in case the humans had caused any trouble. Completely unthreatened by the display, Jamie quirked a brow at the sight of them. The blonde woman, on the other hand—Barb, if North's memory served him right—stiffened noticeably. She obviously didn't know the yetis well enough to tell when they were being serious and when they were just being eccentric for impression's sake.

"All's well," North cheerfully assured his hairy helpers. "Phil! Snow globe!"

Phil garbled a response and trotted off. Barb watched him go before swinging her head around to gape at North. The fact that she was in the _North Pole_ with _Santa Claus_ appeared to be finally sinking in.

"I'm Barb," she eventually offered in a weak voice.

"I know," North replied with a warm smile as he pushed open the door to the globe room. "Bunny told me," he added as he waved them all inside.

Barb's eyes practically bulged out of her skull at the sight of the massive spinning globe.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in boundless wonder. "Cassandra told me about this, but it's just—it's—wow!"

North chuckled. When Phil returned moments later, snow globe in hand, the big man shook it while he watched Barb with a twinkle in his eye.

"Ready?" he asked, smashing the globe against the floor. The portal opened, a shimmering image of the Warren appearing just beyond the swirling colors and magic. Jamie stepped forward eagerly, but Barb needed a bit of a push from Salvaguard. She'd already done the portal thing twice before, and _really_ didn't want to do it a third time, but it seemed her quivering stomach would just have to get over it.

With the warmth of her Cadejon protector at her back, she swallowed the bile in her throat and stepped through the portal after Jamie.

* * *

Once North and the others were gone, Cassandra summoned her dream sand. Thankfully, that particular power hadn't faded like her rabbit senses had; a twirl of one hand was all it took to shape a tiny golden horse, small enough to fit comfortably on her palm. She didn't think much on the shape of it—it was simply the first animal that popped into her head—and focused instead on giving it clear but simple instructions. When she was finished, the horse tossed its head then dashed away to deliver her message. Streams of golden sand trailed behind its tiny body as it galloped effortlessly through the air.

With that task complete, Cassandra set about the next part of her preparations. Knowing a Watchful Eye was always somewhere close, she began to search the library for one.

Finding it wasn't all that difficult, as it turned out; it wasn't even hiding, having found a perch for itself atop one of the high shelves in the corner of the room.

"You have direct communication with your master, yes?" she inquired of the Eye. She stood still as a statue, gazing up at it from the depths of the shadows cast by her cloak. "Like a hive mind."

It stared at her, expression blank as always. But then, ever so slowly, it blinked.

Confirmation.

Drawing a quiet breath, Cassandra began to speak…

* * *

For Barb, being in the Warren again was…odd, to say the least. She stepped out of the portal to find Jamie Bennett crushed in the middle of a massive Guardian group hug. He was grinning and laughing awkwardly, as if the display of over-affection really didn't bother him too much. But it was clear he was struggling to focus on one single track of conversation as all four spirits talked loudly over one another.

A female voice squealed very, _very_ rapidly: "Jamie! Oh Jamie! You're back! You're all right! Oh, thank goodness, we were all so worried!"

That had to be Tooth Fairy, whose trio of hummingbird-like fairies twittered and flew dizzying circles over her head, plucking at Jamie's hair and jacket as they tried to get his attention.

The loud and heavily accented words of the rabbit spirit—Bunnymund—carried over their combined babble despite his diminutive size. "Jamie! You're all right mate! Thank Manny, I thought for sure—"

He broke off with a harsh sound, a sort of undignified squeak crossed with a grunt, when he was unexpectedly crushed between Jamie's side and Jack Frost's hoodie-covered stomach. The boy spirit gripped his friend tightly with both arms, his staff temporarily forgotten, as he repeated over and over again, "Jamie! Jamie, Jamie, Jamie!"

That was all he could say, really. He was just too happy and shocked and overwhelmingly relieved to come up with anything else. Barb heard North chuckling quietly at from her left, while Salvaguard continued to watch quietly from her other side.

Meanwhile, the other spirit in the group, whom Barb quickly deduced was Sandman, had golden symbols flying over his head in rapid succession. Jamie tried to answer his silent inquiries, but kept getting interrupted by everyone else. The babble of endless questions, half-finished responses and joyous utterances was both heartwarming and aggravating for Barb, who just wanted it to be over with already. Seriously, the man had only been out of the picture for a couple of weeks, and they were all acting like they hadn't seen him in _years._

At long last, the group broke apart. Rubbing his neck, Jamie gave Barb a sheepish look.

"Sorry," he apologized. "They're all a bit…animated."

"I can see that," Barb replied just as ruefully. She nodded to Frost, and then to the rabbit, both of whom returned the gesture.

Tooth Fairy flitted over to Barb and grasped her hand in both of her own.

"Hi! I'm Toothiana, but most call me Tooth Fairy." She grinned. "Jack and Bunny told us about you, about your visit. I'm so glad Cassandra has somebody like you to look out for her."

Barb opened her mouth to say something scathing, because these were supposed to be the Guardians of Childhood who protected _children_ , like Cassandra, yet had failed horrendously at doing so just because Cassandra was a little bit different. But she kept quiet as Sandman drifted forward. According to Cassandra, the dream weaver was the most logical and respectful of the bunch, so Barb decided the least she could do was keep her temper and indignation in check so as to show him some respect in return.

"You must be the dream weaver," she said. Unlike with Tooth Fairy, who'd touched her without permission, Barb extended her hand freely to the tiny, pudgy, yellow man. "I've heard about you."

Sandman smiled and took the proffered hand. A symbol appeared over his head, a silhouette of Cassandra. When Barb nodded, his smile widened and released her. Then he looked around, one golden brow quirking. Obviously he'd noticed the lack of Cassandra's presence.

"Say, where is the kid anyway?" Bunnymund spoke up at the same time.

"She'll be back soon," North said. He shrugged, adding, "Is what she said, anyway."

"And you just _left_ her, mate?" Bunny said, disbelieving. He grunted when the comment earned him both an elbow from Frost and a glare from Barb. Perched atop his round wooden table, around which the group was gathered, the rabbit rubbed at his abused ribs and grumbled, "Sorry if I'm still a bit skeptical, mate."

"We're glad you're back, Jamie," Tooth said, redirecting the conversation in a clear attempt to break the tension before it got too firmly settled. Yet her smile wavered, then faded. Purple eyes gazed at Jamie mournfully as she murmured, "I'm sorry about Sophie."

"It's fine," Jamie replied said on a ragged breath. Barb could tell he was struggling not to cry; he was trying hard to be strong, and his effort was more than commendable, but the wounds left by his sister's sudden departure from belief were still very raw.

Sensing his vulnerability, Frost leapt lightly to his side and put an arm around his shoulders. With Jack's silent support, Jamie managed to get through the whole story—from the arrival of the judgment scroll to Barb's inviting him to spend the night—without breaking down. Getting through the events of the previous night were by far the hardest for him, and the Guardians all gasped and crowded close when they heard just how close Jamie had come to losing himself to his darkest, most haunting thoughts. Jack clung to him with an unshakable grip, and murmured gentle reassurances to his human friend through the many silences Jamie had to take to collect himself.

"It's okay, Jamie. I know what that's like. I know what it's like to feel alone. Powerless. You won't have to go through that anymore, you have us. You have me. You can come talk to me whenever you need to, kid, I promise to listen no matter what. Sophie's still your sister. She still loves you, Jamie, even if she doesn't believe anymore. Nothing can shake the bond of blood."

And Jamie would nod, his strength renewed, if only just a little bit, and continue on with the story. When he was finally through, a long silence descended over the rabbit spirit's humble abode, one that was eventually broken by Tooth Fairy.

"Why are you doing with Cassandra, Jamie? Even if it's okay now since Issitoq rescinded his judgment, why ever would you two…?"

She let the question trail off.

"I'm helping her," Jamie said. "Or trying to, anyway. Don't know how much help I've been, all things considered."

"Fisher asked you for help?" Bunnymund sounded—and looked—truly puzzled by the prospect. "And you?" he inquired of Barb. When she nodded, his nose twitched. "What does she need help with? All this time she's insisted she could manage alone, but—"

"She said that because she believed nobody would help her in good faith, except maybe Sandman," Barb informed him in as calm a voice as she could manage. "She's just a child, a child with no family and no friends, who all but raised herself. Of course she has issues with trust. Self-reliance was all that got her through. Then she was thrust into the middle of all this—" she gestured vaguely with one hand to indicate the room at large, and all the spirits gathered in it "—where she has virtually no control and is being forced to choose someone to die. _Any_ person, human or otherwise, would need help coping with such a thing, but as a child she needs help most of all."

Bunnymund flinched as if the very words had slapped him. "I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean she doesn't need the help. I just thought…of all people, you know…why would she ask Jamie?"

Barb pursed her lips but grudgingly accepted his explanation. Animosity wouldn't help right now, especially not when Cassandra finally returned. Barb wondered where she could be, what the girl could be doing, but trusted her to come back safely.

"So…" Jack said awkwardly in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence, "what took you up to North's?"

Jamie was saved from having to answer that question by the opening of a portal, which heralded Cassandra's arrival. She was still wearing the cloak, and as she stepped into the room and the magic portal faded away in a colorful whoosh, Barb noticed she had the census tome in her hands.

Without a word, Cassandra went to the table and dropped the tome there with a hollow thud. Bunnymund, still perched atop the table, jerked back when the book nearly landed on his toes. But the indignant curse that sprung to his lips died the very instant he recognized the cover. He crouched down, nose quivering curiously as Cassandra opened the book to the appropriate page. She then stepped back, giving the others room to lean close and peer at the pages.

Bunnymund, the closest of them all, spotted it first. He gaped at Cassandra with enormous eyes, then at North (the only Guardian who'd hung back, and whose grim face spoke volumes) before returning to stare at Cassandra again.

"Nah," he breathed.

"What?" Frost inquired. Then he, too, made the connection. He swung his head to stare stupidly at North, who just nodded solemnly.

Tooth spluttered nonsensically. "But that's—there's just—how could—"

Giving up on whatever it was she'd been trying to say, she darted over to Cassandra. "Who?!" she gasped in a hoarse whisper, slim nose mere millimeters from Cassandra's. "Who is it?"

"Pitch," Cassandra replied evenly. Her cloak kept her from growing annoyed at the fairy's encroachment of her personal space, just as it stopped her from rolling her eyes at the way the Guardian of Memories recoiled.

"There's no way," Bunnymund denied. "Ain't no way."

But even as his mouth spoke, his emerald eyes remained fixed upon the pages, betraying the doubt in his own conviction.

 _Do you have proof?_ Sandman asked with his symbols. His face was stony, but his eyes were worried. It seemed he didn't know what to think or feel in the wake of this confounding revelation.

Cassandra blinked. She then reached into her pocket and drew out the tooth case. The Guardians, save Tooth, gasped, and all but Sandman recoiled. Even the fairy pulled back, but her face was pinched with guilt rather than distrust and fear.

"Take it," Cassandra said, holding the case out to her. The fairy hesitated for a long moment, torn between fear and need, but eventually reached out a hand to take it. Just before her fingers touched the cold metal case, Cassandra pointedly added, "Then you'll understand why you were chosen for the rite."

Even Barb jerked in surprise when she heard that. Bunnymund growled something under his breath, but the others remained tensely silent.

Tooth, for her part, pressed her lips into a thin line yet determinedly lifted her chin. She took the case in hand, and touched the front to activate the memories inside.

Her eyes glazed over, indicating that she was lost in the past. As the rest of the room could not see the memories for themselves, everyone watched Tooth's expressive face: it twisted with confusion at first; then wide-eyed shock; then, shortly thereafter, a look of horror settled upon her features and tears streamed freely down her face.

"Shostakovich," North breathed.

"Crikey," Bunnymund murmured at the exact same time.

Tooth broke free of the memories at last, sniffling and wiping her eyes with her case-free hand. The whole affair had only taken a few minutes, but it seemed to have been more than enough.

"I don't believe it," she whispered. "If only I'd looked sooner…if only I hadn't been scared to look…"

The words crumbled and broke over unuttered sobs. Each breath she took was a gasp, her feathered chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought the urge to break down completely. She buried her face in her hands. The case pressed hard into her forehead, but she hardly seemed aware of it. Then, just as abruptly as she'd lowered it, she lifted her head again to peer at Cassandra through water-logged eyes.

"That's why, isn't it? Why I was chosen. If I hadn't been scared…if I'd just done my job and _looked,_ I could've…Pitch wouldn't have been…"

"So it's true?" Bunnymund murmured. He reached out a paw to touch Tooth lightly, comfortingly, on the shoulder. "He's really infected?"

With a shuddering inhalation, Tooth nodded.

In disbelief, Frost breathed, "Manny's name…" At his side, Sandman sat heavily on the floor, a look of sheer devastation on his pudgy yellow face.

"He was like you," Tooth whispered to Jack. "He was human, once, before he was a spirit. When he was transformed, he had no idea what had happened or why. He wandered aimlessly, trying to figure out what had happened to him. But unlike you," she said in a tearful voice, "he did not have fun to offer a small semblance of comfort."

"He had darkness," Frost said.

"And fear," Bunnymund added. He looked quite sick. "When was he infected?"

"I don't know how long it was, exactly, between his transformation and infection. The memories weren't quite clear on that. But I got the impression it wasn't that long at all. A week…maybe two."

Now they _all_ looked sick, even Jamie. The man was quite pale and leaned heavily against the table, as if that support alone was keeping him upright.

"All this time," North breathed raggedly, "we were fighting _it_? Not Pitch?"

"How did we not notice?" Bunnymund wondered aloud.

Cassandra answered promptly, "You did not know him before infection. No one did. Without any understanding of what his true personality was like, the only truth anyone knew was what he became after."

"Were _any_ of our interactions with him, or were they all with it?"

With the slightest nod of the head, Cassandra explained, "Twenty years ago, Pitch managed to broker a deal with the parasite. He convinced it to give him a chance to redeem himself after the debacle that ended the Dark Ages. They were true partners in the beginning, you see. His personality was warped by the parasite, even then, but they worked far more in tandem then than they ever have since. Pitch insisted that if he was given free reign, he could defeat you, and the parasite gave him the opportunity to do so."

Without moving her head, her eyes flicked over to Frost. "When you two met in Antarctica, he was not trying to corrupt or turn you to his side. Not really. That was simply a façade, a mask he put on for the parasite. It was not in charge, then, but it was still inside him, watching. He used the pretense of appealing to your emotions as a means to ask for help, because he did not think anyone else would understand. As Tooth Fairy said, you are like him in a lot of ways." Frost sank, weak-limbed, to the floor beside Sandman, yet Cassandra pressed on. "You were turned suddenly, and were alone from the beginning. You were both confused as to why you were picked and were filled with unanswered questions about your purpose and identity. But unlike him, you were not discovered by a dark, manipulative creature seeking a host body. Unlike him, your head was not filled with pretty lies and false promises."

"Is that why I was picked?" Although his voice remained steady, if exceptionally quiet, icy tears slid freely down Frost's pale cheeks. "Is that why my powers were so much stronger than the others'? Because I—I rejected him. I sneered at him…" He hung his head in shame. "I had no idea…no idea. I thought he was just being manipulative, I thought he was just trying to make me betray the others…"

"He's good at deception," Cassandra explained. "He's become so thanks to the parasite, and had to be so for the same reason. He had to hide his true intentions for Burgess carefully, else risk discovery and heinous retribution, but it seemed he bargained too much on your ability to see past your own emotions to the puzzle he presented."

Frost knew the words were true, yet he tried to deny them anyway, the stupid, stubborn spirit that he was. "How was I to know? He'd attacked the kids with nightmares, kidnapped the fairies, and used me to ruin Easter! How was I to know that any of it, let alone _all_ of it, was a cry for help?"

"We all failed, mate, not just you." Bunnymund left the table at last, bounding down so he could settle on Frost's knee and look into his eyes. "We're all older than you by several centuries. If anybody should've seen the truth, it was us."

"But he came to _me._ "

Bunnymund shook his head, refuting the denial. "He'd broken you down, mate. Cover or not, he used you, destroyed Sandy and nearly destroyed me too. What reason had he given you to even _listen_ to him, never mind believe him?"

Frost said nothing, because there was nothing at all for him to say. Bunnymund nodded slowly, understandingly.

"See? This whole thing's one big mess. We can't lay the blame on any one of us, 'cause we're all part of it. I betcha North's only excluded from the rite 'cause of Issitoq's need for balance." He glanced at Cassandra for confirmation, took her lack of reaction to his words as such, and reiterated to Frost, "We're all responsible, mate. But now we're all gonna fix it."

"How?" Frost asked bleakly. "Even if we help him, even if we _fix_ this, one of us is still gonna die."

The rabbit winced, but held his ground. "Yeah. Yeah, one of us is gonna. But that's what it took, didn't it? That's what it took for Issitoq to get us to stop being insufferable gumbies and pay attention. But even then, we wouldn't have known anything about this without Fisher's help."

Turning on Frost's knee, Bunnymund sat up on his hind legs to face Cassandra squarely.

"I'm sorry, Fisher," he said, emerald eyes clear and unblinking. "I'm sorry for attacking you. Twice." His nose twitched, discomforted by the fact that he'd pinned her down in the alleyway long before he'd ever attacked her in Randy's living room. "I'm sorry for doubting you and making your life hell. I'm sorry for trying to push you to side with us against Pitch. I'm sorry—"

He broke off when Cassandra raised a hand to silence him.

"I don't need or want your apologizes," she said, lowering her hand again. "I want your help."

Brushing lingering tear streaks off his face, Jack lifted his chin, his usual determined half-smirk firmly in place. "What do we need to do?"

"There's nothing we can do," North said, speaking up for the first time in a long while. "When it takes a host, nothing can get it out. Not unless it wishes to go."

"Can't we make it go?"

North shook his head. "Even if it goes when it wants, not when it's made, it does not leave host body alive."

"Never," Bunnymund reiterated when Jack opened his mouth. "It never goes without killing the host, mate. It's just the way it is."

 _Vengeful. Hateful._ Sandman, too, was speaking again. He rose to his feet to address the group, although his attention was largely on Jack. _If it leaves a host willingly, it is because it believes the host body has grown too weak to be of further use. That, in its mind, makes the spirit unworthy of existence._

"It's spiteful," Bunnymund explained as Cassandra quietly interpreted the sand symbols for Barb. "If it has to leave a body, it's the host's fault, so the host has to die. Simple as that."

"That's horrible," Barb said aghast.

"Yeah," Bunnymund solemnly agreed. "And Pitch's been stuck with it all this time. To be honest, I have no idea how he's survived with it for so long. It usually grows sick of a body after a couple of decades, or a better opportunity presents itself."

"That's just it," Cassandra said, drawing everyone's attention back to her in an instant. "There are no better opportunities than Pitch. None that would work to the parasite's advantage, anyway. The few spirits there are that are more powerful—Issitoq, Morsoi, the Man in the Moon, perhaps Frost or the dream weaver—they're all impossible targets or too great of a liability. And it won't settle for a weaker host, no matter how much Pitch drives it insane with failure, because that would ruin any hope it has of getting what it wants."

 _What's that?_ Sandy inquired.

"Everything," Tooth said, tone as hard as the expression on her face.

Cassandra elaborated, "In the memories, the parasite told Pitch it's been denied its rightful claim to a vast, boundless territory, one that Pitch would help it get in exchange for power and believers. It spoke to him in vague generalizations, because it wants the entire world as a realm. The Dark Ages was merely a practice run, Europe its safest initial target because the continent at that time was filled with superstitious humans who had very few spirit protectors. Then you Guardians came along and completely overthrew it, destroying any hope it had of gaining, through Pitch, the territory it believes it deserves. It loathes and despises Pitch for that, blaming him for its failure, but it won't leave him because it knows it won't find a better host. Not yet, anyway. Pitch's powers are extensive, impressively so, even you will admit, and he is extremely intelligent. But his greatest assets are being squandered by the parasite because it doesn't want to admit that Pitch would've actually been better off without it."

"So that's all it's doing? Skulking around, waiting for a stronger spirit to come along?"

"Stronger," Cassandra acknowledged Frost, "yet easily manipulated. As I said, the parasite doesn't just pick hosts that are strong, it picks ones that it can control. It waits, watches, seeks out those it knows will be malleable to its lies, and then strikes out to claim them. That's why it hasn't tried to infect any of you, even though arguably that would've been the simplest way for it to defeat you. It is extremely arrogant, gloating in its strength and prowess, yet it will not pick a fight it isn't guaranteed to win. It can't be bothered wasting the time and effort."

Frost looked furious. His staff trembled slightly as he clutched it tightly until his knuckles audibly popped.

"I'll kill it," he hissed. "We need to kill it!"

"I'd be all for it, mate, if it were possible." Bunnymund too looked angry, but that didn't stop him from trying to be sensible. "The reason it's existed this long is 'cause it's impossible to destroy. Even if you get it out of the host body, even if you manage to strike it down, it doesn't just die. It disintegrates into hundreds of tiny parts, like snakes, that slither and slide off in every possible direction. If even _one_ survives, the thing can regenerate. It may take hundreds of years for it to do so, but eventually it will come back."

"But there's got to be a way," Jack insisted. "That's why you came here, right?" he pleaded to Cassandra. "You came to us for help because you know we _can_ help. You know how to stop it!"

"I told you mate," Bunnymund said, slowly and wearily as if speaking to a stubborn child. "Even if we get it out of him, even if we manage to strike it down, how the bloody hell are we supposed to deal with all the fragments?"

A voice purred from behind them, "I believe that is where I step in."


	29. Cries in the Night

Author's Note:

Oh boy. Here I thought this was going to be the last chapter before the epilogue, and then I realized I was pushing ten thousand words before I'd even gotten three quarters of the way through what I wanted to include. Needless to say, it got cut in two. I know you guys were saying you liked longer chapters, but ten thousand words is seriously pushing my limit when it comes to editing. It just takes _so_ long. So, yeah. One more chapter after this, and then the epilogue. We're almost through! I don't know whether to leap for joy or cry with despair... Maybe both?

Thank you very much to everyone who read the last chapter, reviewed, and/or marked the story as a favorite/follow. I truly appreciate all the support I've been getting as a writer, and find it amazing that so many of you are coming back for more. Please keep supporting me in the future. :D

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Here it is! Hopefully the wait wasn't too agonizing for you. ;)

 **WinterCrystal1009:** She is intelligent, but as I've said before the cloak helps a lot too. It's amazing what you can manage to figure out when you don't have ten thousand emotion-fueled thoughts racing around your brain.

 **Skyress1:** You'll find out who it is. And the 'purr' wasn't a literal purr, it was just an adjective to describe the tone in which the words were said. Humans can say things in a purring voice too, if they're in the proper mood. It's sort of like saying someone growled out a word/sentence, if that helps. (Probably not, now that I think about it, because none of that helps you narrow down your guesses, does it?)

 **Silversun XD:** Glad you enjoyed it!

Here it is, folks, the next chapter. Please enjoy, and do buckle up for this one, 'cause it's going to be a hell of a ride.

* * *

It was nearing midnight. Burgess slept, but not peacefully. Nightmares spread like wildfire, leaving not a single child's head untouched. Shrieks of terror and desperate screams for "Mommy! Daddy!" rang out all across town until the very air seemed to tremble with fear.

 _Excellent. EXCELLENT!_

Everything was going exactly to plan. The nightmares were by far the best he'd ever created, and he could feel power pouring into him, revitalizing him—or, rather, his current body—like a desert plant is rejuvenated after an unexpected downpour. It had been centuries since he'd felt so alive; the feeling was absolutely glorious.

 _I will never give this up,_ he decided, observing the pathetic little town with a wickedly smug gleam in his glowing golden eyes. _Now…_

He turned to the north and waited expectantly. He'd been at it for hours already, practically since the sun went down and the youngest mortal brats had fallen asleep. Surely the Guardians (what remained of them, anyway) had heard the news and were about to…

Ah.

There it came, one of the wretch's pitiful yet dutiful slaves of black sand. _Onyx,_ a tiny, useless voice in the back of his head noted, but he paid the notion little attention. Even with the wretch's impeccable memory, he found it next to impossible to tell the beasts apart, but that was mainly because he didn't care. They weren't nearly special enough for him to bother learning the subtle differences between them or remembering their names.

That they even had names was beyond absurd, like naming stones one found on the side of the road.

The stupid sand creature dipped its head and snorted. With the wretch's power surging through him, he understood it plainly:

The Northern Lights had been activated.

Moments later, a second beast approached, followed soon thereafter by a third. The blasted fairy and tiny yellow man had both been spotted, heading north to answer fat man's call. They may detest each other, the three remaining Guardians, but they were proud enough and stupid enough to still pretend they cared more about the children than their divisive squabbles.

 _Exactly as planned._

Knowing it would be another hour at least before the pathetic pests arrived, he leered as he dove toward the ground on a wave of fresh black sand.

He could certainly enjoy himself in the meantime.

* * *

The idiots did, indeed, turn up eventually. They arrived in a swirl of color and light, North redder in the face than usual and looking _anywhere_ but at the others. The fluttering harpy was grumbling to herself, floating around with arms crossed firmly across her body. Even the yellow man, usually more sensible than the rest, was positively seething.

 _Oh yes,_ he mentally crooned. _They're all_ ruined. _Exactly how I envisioned!_

They were arguing, and rather loudly at that. He decided he could afford to watch them for a while; let them rile themselves up even more, and in the meantime he could get a better idea of just how _far_ the pathetically proud spirits had fallen.

"This is ridiculous North!" the winged bitch was uttering waspishly. "We shouldn't be worrying about Pitch, we should be looking for Jack!"

"Children must come first," North insisted for what must've been the thousandth time, if the strained impatience in his voice was any indication. "You know this Tooth! You know this!"

"I know that Pitch is only doing this to keep us from looking for Jack!" she insisted. By all the blackness in the universe, her voice was annoying. "We should do what I _said_ we should do and _ignore_ him until we find him. Besides, how are we ever going to stop him without Jack's magic?"

"Shh!"

"No, I won't ' _shhh_!'" The trio was in the middle of town, now. The fairy had whirled on fat man the moment he shushed her, and thrust a finger right into his chest. "You keep telling me to shut up, shut up, shut up! I'm so sick of you and your big mouth! If anyone should shut up around here, it's _you_!"

North's eyes were lethal in their rage. As the fairy's finger kept on jabbing him, he puffed up to truly stupendous proportions, and it was more than clear that it was taking every last ounce of self-will he possessed to keep from lashing out at her in retaliation.

"That is what you think?" he hissed, his fury quieting his voice until it was almost impossible to overhear. "You think I am loud? I am bossy? You think I am _wrong_ to lead and encourage you?!"

Sandman said something with his symbols, but he really couldn't interpret them any better than he could tell the wretch's sand beasts apart. Whatever it was he said, it must've been quite scathing, for North nearly choked as his face turned purple.

"You too?!" he bellowed, making the yellow man wince in spite of himself. "You think this is my fault too?!"

They bickered and argued, talking over and around each other, the children and their duty completely forgotten. North even swatted at one of the tiny fairies buzzing near his head when it tried to peck him in retaliation for insulting the Guardian fairy. But in his aggravation, it seemed he'd forgotten about the swords clutched in his massive hands; as he tried to backhand the pesky little morsel, the much larger fairy nearly had her nose taken off. She dodged back just in time, only to fly right into North's face a second later to shriek and curse at him. Truly, the language falling from her tongue was absolutely _obscene._ She cursed him for nearly hurting her, and cursed him even more for attacking her fairy, which was now agitating the yellow man by flying dizzying circles around his head, twittering incessantly into his ears.

Ahhh, it was wonderful. The irreparable discord had him practically salivating. But like all good things, he knew it must come to an end.

With a careless flick of a hand, he commanded one of the black sand beasts. It dashed out of the shadows, slipped between the buildings, and disappeared down the main street. To the casual observer, it would appear as if it was simply galloping by while seeing to its master's wishes, but in reality it had intentionally made itself conspicuous enough to be spotted.

And, sure enough, North noticed it. A warning shout burst from his lips as he immediately took after it, leaving the other two Guardians to reluctantly follow. The winged one, in particular, was still sniping and snarling about what a ridiculous venture it was without Jack, that it was _obviously_ a trick.

 _Yeessss…_ **obviously** _. But you don't need to know that…do you? Not just yet, anyway…_

Exactly as planned, the fleeing sand beast lured the Guardians away from town, deep into the nearby forest. There would be no wretched little brats to undermine his body's power this time, oh no. This time he was taking every precaution.

This time he would **ensure** victory.

"Well, well, well."

The Guardians shut up in perfect unison. In what had to be a purely instinctual reaction (nobody who hated each other as much as they did now would ever react in such manner otherwise), they raised their weapons and moved to stand back-to-back in a traditional—if rather clichéd and boring—defense position. They circled cautiously, peering into the trees, but only blackness stared back at them; he had yet to take physical form, and the sand beast had dissolved into the shadows, leaving the Guardians alarmingly alone.

"And here I thought the stories were all rubbish," he said, stepping out, fully formed, into the faint moonlight. He smirked at the Guardians, showing his teeth. They were not nearly as impressive as his _real_ teeth, but they had the desired effect nevertheless. "Yet here you are, three little Guardians all alone. What? Frost and Bunnymund too _busy_ to come? Not even for the children?"

They bristled at the mocking croon he added at the end.

"You know very well what happened to Jack," the fairy snarled, brandishing her sword, which was absolutely pathetic compared to North's own. Really, why did she even bother when it was little more than a metal stick? "You were the one who filled his head with lies!"

"Did I? I thought it was the rabbit I had conversed with, but…maybe my memory is finally failing me. Old age, and all that."

"There's nothing wrong with your memory! And you know damn well it was your consorting with Cassandra that got Jack all riled up! If she hadn't believed in you, he wouldn't have believed he wasn't worth fighting for, especially after you fed him that trash about being responsible for Jamie!"

"Oh, yes, the human. I'd quite forgotten about him."

She snarled something unintelligible and made to charge at him, but skidded to a mid-air halt when several sand beasts reared into existence before her. She fell back again, wide-eyed and spluttering, as more and more appeared out of the gloom.

"Well, well, now, what do we have here?" he said, deliberately drawing out each syllable as sheer delight coursed through him. Finally! Finally! It was finally happening! Exactly as he'd envisioned! "Three little Guardians, all alone." Still more black shapes appeared, adding to the Guardians' growing terror. He feasted on it, eyes half-closed as the pure pleasure of it washed over him, through him, filled his veins until they sang. "Perhaps I will thank the arbiter brat one day, but I doubt it."

A subtle flick of a finger was all it took to send the he black sand beasts charging. With ample time to spare, he leisurely summoned a scythe while his eager mind raced: Who he should strike down first? The fairy? It would be a swift and satisfying first kill, as she was by far the easiest target. But, no, that would be too quick, too easy. Leave her for last, let her see her companions die, watch as the knowledge that she was all alone and helpless dawning upon her, alighting the terror in her hideous purple eyes. Ahh, yes, they would become magnificent in their horror, wouldn't they? Sandman, then, perhaps? He was the strongest of the three by far, and the oldest, and past battles with the wretch had proven him rather difficult to overcome. No, no, that wouldn't do either. They'd be expecting that, they'd surely predicted he would go after the most powerful enemy first. He couldn't have that. Being predictable was boring, and after being stuck inside that horrible, rotting realm for over four hundred years, he was sick of being bored.

North it was then.

He sprinted towards the fray, lifting the scythe high over his shoulder as he went. Gleaming eyes fixed upon the yellow man, lips pulled back in a victorious sneer, he changed trajectory of his swing at the very last moment, leaving the pathetic dream weaver stiff with shock as he bypassed his yellow body completely and sought out North's bearded head instead. It was only by sheer happenstance that the fat man saw the attack coming—a slight turn of the head as he struck down a black sand beast allowed him to spot movement out of the corner of his eye. He dodged at the last possible moment, wide-eyed and panting as the very near miss caused sweat to burst out along his brow.

As he wrenched the scythe free of the ground, where it had become deeply imbedded upon missing North's skull, he leered at the fat Guardian as he came at him again, swinging with all his might.

This was going to be **fun**!

* * *

Even if the Guardians hadn't known about the parasite, it would've been abundantly clear to them that something was very off about Pitch tonight. The creature inside him had done a decent job mimicking the Nightmare King's smooth tone and mocking demeanor, but the rest of him just wasn't…right. His hair was a bit more disheveled than usual (a detail they would've readily ignored as sheer happenstance, if not missed completely, had they not known about the Boogeyman's current plight), and his eyes were wide, wild, very nearly deranged. Every single one of his teeth showed in a smile that was too wide, too elated, which combined with his piercingly glowing eyes made the Nightmare King look half-mad with manic glee.

As for his fighting style, it was completely off. On that front the parasite wasn't even trying to conceal itself, plain and simple. Whereas the real Pitch Black (or as much of the real Pitch as any of them had known) did not shy from using his strength, he tended to rely much more heavily on diversionary tactics, switching up his weapons and using the presence of shadows much to his advantage. This Pitch, on the other hand, was all brute force, swinging his scythe again and again and again as if it weighed nothing. He beat North back with sheer, brutal might, leaving Sandy to dash desperately to his aid. That, unfortunately, left Tooth alone and surrounded by Nightmares. She fought well, and held her ground as best she could, but there were just too many of them for her to possibly fend off alone. Sooner or later, they'd break through her defenses and—

With a blast of ice-cold wind, Jack Frost appeared in the sky. The Nightmares reared back, stunned by his sudden appearance. Ignoring them for the moment, the boy spirit directed his staff towards the parasite-ridden Pitch, sending a fierce, unrelenting wave of ice and snow towards him. It was May, and it was warm, too warm for his frost to linger long, but it was more than enough.

Protected by a hastily-summoned wall of black sand, Pitch stumbled back. His face contorted with an ugly mixture of shock and confusion and fury as Frost landed with a soft thud, a mocking half-smirk on his face.

"Hey there," Jack called merrily. "Remember me?"

* * *

"You will hold back as long as possible," Cassandra instructed Jack, who, for once, was listening with rapt attention and a closed mouth. "But you'll need to take great care not to be spotted; there will be Nightmares everywhere, and if they so much as suspect your presence the parasite will know it's a trick and flee. We'll never get another chance should that happen."

"How long will he wait?" North inquired.

"Until one of you is in trouble." She looked between North, Tooth Fairy, and the dream weaver. "Hold off as long as you can, and just when the parasite starts to think its victory is secured, Frost will appear."

"Not only taking it by complete surprise, but disturbing it much more deeply by making it reconsider its presumptive notions of an 'easy' conquest."

"Precisely," Cassandra acknowledged Tooth Fairy. She then continued to Jack, "Don't hold back your attacks, as that will only rouse its suspicions, but do not harm Pitch any more than absolutely necessary. He deserves to be spared as much pain as possible, and if the parasite gets it in its head early on that it can't win, it'll take off to try and save itself."

Bunnymund's fur ruffled indignantly. He growled, "Either disappearing with Pitch, or abandoning his body to die."

"Are you clear on all of that, Frost?" Cassandra asked, ignoring the Pooka's unnecessary input.

The boy spirit nodded, a look of eager determination settling onto his pale face.

* * *

Jack sent another powerful blast in Pitch's direction, forcing the infected spirit of fear to drop into the shadows. He reemerged a short distance away, panting open-mouthed in his rage.

"Frost," he hissed. He repeated it, over and over, the word becoming louder and louder until it was a shriek. "Frost. Frost! _Frost_! _FROST_!"

He launched himself forward on a heaving surge of black sand, flanked on both sides by charging mares. Flanked himself by North and Sandy, Jack met the charge head-on, a battle cry on his lips. While Sandy and North took care of the mares, Jack leapt into the air, intending to use the momentum and angle to his advantage and blast Pitch out of the sky with his wind.

Unfortunately, he misjudged either the strength of his jump, the speed they were travelling, or both, for he wound up colliding bodily with Pitch instead. The infected spirit of fear must've timed the attack poorly as well, for he hadn't quite managed to raise his scythe in time to stop Jack's rather…physical…assault. Shock from the unexpected blow caused him to drop the weapon, which promptly vanished into black dust. The Nightmare King snarled and clawed at Jack's face, as if the dumb parasite had temporarily forgotten that it didn't actually have claws right now. Desperately fending off those groping fingers, Jack pressed his hands over the Boogeyman's face and concentrated, forcing a thick sheet of ice to appear across his skin, temporarily blinding him, before leaping away to safety.

The parasite screeched in fury. It scratched and yanked on the ice until Pitch's fingers bled. Jack flinched as a nail must've caught on the ice and peeled off, judging from the sudden spurt of blood dribbling down Pitch's wrist. He hadn't meant for that to happen; he'd only meant to disorient the parasite for a while, and in the May heat the ice would've melted quickly with little adverse effect.

Unfortunately for Pitch, the parasite was too pissed off to think of that. And it clearly had no care whatsoever for the fact that it was doing far more harm to its own host body than Jack's ice "attack" ever could have done.

Jack didn't get to dwell on the guilt for long. A cry from Tooth alerted him to her current state of desperation: a Nightmare had nearly caught her wing in its teeth, and she'd only just gotten away in time. Even with her lightning-quick reflexes, it was growing increasingly difficult for her to evade injury as more and more mares surrounded her, isolating her from the rest of the group.

Leaping over the foray, Jack landed beside her and, with the aid of Wind, spun in a swift, smooth circle, the icy blast he conjured sending the surrounding Nightmares scattering for the trees. At least six were destroyed, by his count, but Jack was fairly certain the actual number was much higher. It was always difficult to count accurately whilst completing a maneuver like that.

" **WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!** "

As one, the Guardians flinched. Peering through the darkness, Jack saw that the parasite had finally managed to free itself of his blinding ice. Pitch's gray face was scratched raw, especially around the eyes, yet the parasite seemed hardly aware of the wounds. The eyes themselves could've melted stone, that was how bright and hot they burned in the wake of its towering rage. All traces of Pitch's usual smirk were gone; his lips were drawn back into a horrid sneer, turning his crooked teeth into a vicious snarl that would've done an animal-esque spirit like Salvaguard proud.

The atmosphere in the dark Pennsylvania forest grew heavy, stifling, charged and threatening, as if the very air surrounding them was about to explode at any moment. The Guardians recognized that dreadful feeling: the parasite, in its wrath, was drawing upon its immense magical power, completely disregarding the limitations of its current physical body.

Not good.

Almost as one, the Guardians stepped back, wide eyes darting between the Nightmares and the infected Pitch Black, not wanting to take their eyes off any of them for more than a moment. None of them wanted to answer the parasite's screeched question because, quite frankly, it would be a stupid thing to do. They knew a verbal response would accomplish nothing except riling it up even more.

Unfortunately for them (or was it really to their fortune?), one of their number was exceptionally audacious, and his accented voice spoke abruptly from the surrounding darkness:

"Hello, mate."

* * *

"What about Bunny?" Tooth asked. Cassandra couldn't tell if the fairy's breathlessness was caused by anxiousness or excitement.

"What about me?" Bunnymund said gruffly. "Obviously I'll be stayin' here. Holding down the fort or whatever you humans call it."

He turned his back to them, ears drooping low over his hunched, furred back. The other Guardians and Jamie Bennett watched him with pitying eyes, but Cassandra felt no such sympathy.

"Don't be a coward."

Bunnymund bristled up at once, standing stiff and straight but still facing the other way. He growled, "I ain't a coward."

"Then turn around and face me."

He turned. Standing rigid as a brick wall, he stared hard into Cassandra's eyes. The look wasn't quite indignant enough to turn insolent, and there was a definite undercurrent of pain hidden deep within it. Despite those powerful emotions, though, the Pooka refused to blink.

"I will never forgive you for what you did," Cassandra began.

"And you shouldn't," he immediately replied, voice as unrelenting as his stare. "What I did was unforgivable. I know that."

"Good. That will make this part a lot easier."

He winced. While the rest of the room watched with bated breath, Cassandra stalked towards the table-perched Pooka. She bent down, just a little, so her nose was a mere inch from his. A slight tremble had taken up in his limbs, she saw, but Bunnymund clenched his teeth and braced himself to face the inevitable consequences of his actions.

"Did you know," Cassandra said quietly, "that because you attacked me, breaking your Guardian's oath and the rules of _Mutatis Mutandis_ , if I refuse to choose you for the rite I am free to decide your punishment?"

"What?" Jack croaked before North hastily shushed him.

The tremble traveled to the Pooka's face, causing his lower lip to quiver for just a moment. He quelled it by pushing his mouth into a deep frown.

"You know this?" he asked.

"Issitoq told me. When we met in Ikiaq."

"Do—do you not intend to pick me?" He could scarcely believe it.

"I never did. I told you so from the very beginning."

He swallowed thickly, but squared his shoulders. "So what's it to be, then, eh?" There was no hatred, animosity or even blame discernible in his voice, just simple, quiet resignation.

"I want you to remember, E. Aster Bunnymund. I want you to remember what you did to me for the rest of your sorry existence. I want you to remember that you are an oath breaker, a manipulator, a liar. I want you to remember that no matter how many times you curse the dark spirits you hunt and sneer upon their very names, the same capacity for darkness resides within you, making you a hypocrite. I want you to remember that you were wrong about me, just as you were wrong about Pitch, and that nothing you can say or do will ever amend the wrongs you committed against us."

He was shaking by the end of her speech. His emerald eyes were very wide, and with her magic Cassandra could sense his fear rising as he awaited her sentence.

"Each year," she declared, "on the very eve you broke your Guardian's oath, you will be trapped within your realm, small and weak, just as you are now. You will remain there, in that state, for seven days and seven nights; let it serve to remind you of just how vile you can be, and give you time to consider the many, many reasons why you should never allow yourself to stoop so low again."

Bunnymund choked out, "But-but what if something happens? The ankle biters—!"

"Will survive. You still hold power over hope in this state; you'll be able to maintain it just as easily then as you have now. As for in the event of an attack…" Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you should've considered the full ramifications of your actions before you attacked me—a _child._ " Bunnymund winced. She continued in the same cool, detached voice, "Your friends will manage just fine without you. If not…well, then you'd better hope they can at least hang on until your time is up."

Bunnymund looked absolutely devastated. He was a fighter, a perfectionist and, above all, he was immensely proud. Being reduced to such a sorry state year after year would be nothing short of humiliating for him, and should anything happen to his precious believers while he was gone, he'd never forgive himself.

And yet… he accepted it. He accepted it with lowered eyes and a tiny nod, if only because he had no other choice. Being caged in his realm for a week out of every fifty-two was a far better fate than being dead, plain and simple.

* * *

The parasite reeled, temporarily dumbfounded by the appearance of Bunnymund in all his six-foot-one glory. The Pooka smirked as he tossed his boomerang. Completely distracted, none of the Nightmares managed to react in time. One was taken out by a sharp kick to the throat, while three others were demolished in quick succession before the whirling boomerang returned to Bunnymund's paw.

It was only then that the parasite seemed to comprehend what was happening.

" **LIARS!** " it shrieked. " **LIARS ALL OF YOU!"**

"Pretty rich, coming from you," Jack noted sardonically. He and the others had likewise seized the moment to pick off as many mares as they could.

The mares began to back away, tossing their heads and eyeing one another in confusion and growing concern. This wasn't what they'd been told would happen. This wasn't going according to plan at all. Their master's plans usually didn't turn out very well, admittedly, but they'd never gone _this_ badly before.

The false-master was going to get them all killed, and they didn't even _like_ him.

" **WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"** the false one screamed at the conflicted mares. " **ATTACK THEM! KILL THEM!"**

They flinched, but bowed their heads in reluctant obedience and charged forward again, following the false-master as it bellowed and attacked the Guardians with a newly rejuvenated scythe.

Yet had the false one paid the mares any real attention, or even bothered to learn their names, it would have noticed one very telling fact: Onyx was among those that held back, refusing to obey. The mare's head was up, ears cocked forward, eyes narrowed and calculating as she watched the false-master strike again and again and again in a mindless frenzy of swings.

If Pitch had looked mad before, he looked positively insane now—hair flying all over, robes tattered and matted with blood, spit shimmering on his chin where it had been flung by harsh, furious breaths through an open mouth. The parasite battered and beat the Guardians with little care for its own defenses, striking Tooth Fairy's hasty parry so hard she was knocked to the ground with a cry of pain, only to lose its scythe a second later when Sandman's whip caught its host body around the wrists and flung it away from the group, into the trees. It scrambled to its feet with a snarl, the scythe reappearing almost instantly. Nightmares had to literally scatter out of the way as it charged forward again, teeth bared like an animal.

Jack Frost felt sick. Watching the parasitic spirit reduce a man he'd once loathed yet grudgingly respected into a mindless battering ram of flesh was absolutely appalling. If the Guardians had actually been _trying_ to destroy Pitch, they could've easily done so numerous times; that was how many careless openings the parasite left in its ferocious but truly foolish attempts to destroy them. Upon being presented for the fourth time with the Nightmare King's unprotected back, Jack decided enough was enough. He lifted his staff and pointed it right at the Boogeyman's spine, preparing to blast him off his feet with a burst of icy wind.

 _Maybe_ that _will get it to stop and think for half a second._

However, in the scant moments it took Jack to summon his magic, the parasite sensed the gathering power and quickly determined what was happening. It swung around, shoulders first, to defend itself, a curse building on its tongue as it lifted the scythe high…

…only to be met by a newly-materialized Cassandra Fisher, who, with a firm and resolute hand, drove a black sand dagger deep into Pitch Black's chest.

* * *

"You sure about this?" Jack whispered. Given what he'd just been told, talking any louder just seemed…obscene.

"Absolutely."

"But Pitch—"

"Wants to die," Cassandra said, interrupting the Tooth Fairy before she could even get properly started. "I didn't understand at first, but I do now. When I was near him, I could sense his greatest fear, just as he could sense mine and everyone else's. He seemed shocked, and almost frightened, by the fact that I could sense it. I think it's because he didn't want the parasite to know just how badly the infection had affected him."

She looked at them all, one by one, right in the eye. "Pitch's greatest fear is that he'll never be happy. He didn't want to be a spirit, just as Frost didn't want to be one. But as you all already know, Frost had fun, he had the _hope_ of being believed in one day, and in the end he had Guardianship. Pitch has nothing, not even hope, because he's long since learned and accepted that being infected by the parasite is a death sentence. He's never had the chance to be himself, or the freedom to enjoy being a spirit…not that he ever could've enjoyed it, I think. Even in the memories, it was clear he didn't like the idea of scaring people and couldn't understand why he'd been chosen for such a thing. By now he frankly detests being a spirit, but has resigned himself to suffer through it until the parasite is through with him."

"Good god," Jamie Bennett breathed, placing a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the words even as they left him. His face was pale, awash with horror. He, better than any of the others, even Jack Frost, knew just how devastatingly powerful and overwhelming such feelings of hopelessness could be.

"That's why the rite was initiated," Cassandra explained to them. "Issitoq knew Pitch had been infected, and was well aware of the detestable the circumstances leading to his infection, but couldn't do anything about it because the parasite hadn't broken any laws. Its very existence is dependent upon possessing other spirits, and not even Issitoq can undermine that. Yet the parasite is intelligent enough to recognize that unless it convinces its hosts to _agree_ to its presence inside them, grievance after grievance will be filed against it until some day, inevitably, Issitoq will side with the host's loved ones. Losing a host in such a way would not only mar its pride, but being summoned to Ikiaq again and again and again would prove far more aggravating than its short temper could ever cope with. So, to spare itself that aggravation, it resorts to cruel tricks and cunning half-truths to convince spirits that being infected is actually a good thing. Legally speaking, as long as it does not tell a lie while luring a spirit, or force itself upon another, Issitoq can do nothing to interfere.

"Yet with Pitch, it finally crossed a line. He'd only just transformed, and knew absolutely nothing about the spirit world. Again, legally speaking, the parasite had done nothing wrong, but in destroying any chance Pitch had of being independent and fulfilling his true duty as the spirit of fear and shadow, Issitoq was finally granted the ability to initiate the rite of _Mutatis Mutandis._ "

"A hell of a risk," Bunnymund noted in a quiet voice.

"Yes, but he had no other choice. For hundreds of years you Guardians failed to notice that Pitch was infected, and after that debacle in Burgess twenty years ago Issitoq understood that drastic measures had to be taken. The rite was literally a last resort—if I had failed to figure out what was going on, then there really was nothing else to be done for Pitch."

Glancing down, she reached out and touched the folds of her cloak, fingering the material thoughtfully.

"While I was in limbo," she said, "the parasite revealed to me that the cloak was actually Pitch's idea. Obviously they wanted to gain an advantage over you Guardians, but I think it was also a matter of Pitch besting the parasite at its own game for once. He did the exact same thing to the parasite that it had done to him many centuries ago: used truth to cleverly cover a lie. And when Pitch succeeded, he then played me in much the same way he played Frost twenty years ago."

Looking up from the cloak, she met their startled expressions and informed them, "Think about it. Under any other circumstances, Issitoq would've taken great offense to my being tricked into accepting a gift. As you five were so eager to point out, I am human, I am a child, and at that time I had absolutely no understanding of how the spirit world worked. The reason Issitoq said nothing against it, though, apart from the obvious fact that no laws were broken, is because he recognized Pitch's true intentions. Pitch bent the rules to his favor, yes, but it didn't undermine the rite in any way because he _wants_ to get picked. It's no different than Frost asking to be chosen, really; he was simply doing it in a very roundabout way. Even the magic infused to the fabric was a fantastic hoax on Pitch's part. The parasite bought into it because it assumed that, being a child, I'd be naturally inclined to side with the Guardians, and wanted an insurance policy against such a thing. But in reality, Pitch wanted to give me the ability to make a completely rational decision without the burdens of personal sentiment and childish reluctance to take life. I am young, far younger than Issitoq ever intended me to be as the arbiter, and I took an early liking to Pitch. He understood these things, and knew that without the cloak's magic I wouldn't be able to do what needs to be done, or, heck, to even see the situation for what it truly is."

She glanced pointedly at Frost, who looked away, pale cheeks tinted slightly pink. He understood her unspoken point quite clearly: 'Just as your childishness and personal sentiments stopped you from seeing the truth in Antarctica.'

"I'm going to give Pitch his death," Cassandra continued in a matter-of-fact voice. "It's what he wants, and Issitoq confirmed that while I cannot take a participant's life for superficial reasons, once I make my decision I may take the selected spirit's life if I so wish. Death by my hand will be more dignified, and far less painful."

Ever the pessimist, Bunnymund interjected. "That's just it, kid. With the parasite there's _bound_ to be pain. It won't have it any other way."

"That's why we're not going to give it a choice in the matter. The parasite is extremely narcissistic, arrogant to the point of being stirred to an irrational rage if it feels it's been in any way insulted. You Guardians are going to rile it up for me, so when I strike Pitch down it'll be furious beyond any known point of return."

"What good'll that do?"

In spite of the cloak, Cassandra smirked at Frost. "It will make it irrational."

* * *

For a single, surreal moment in time, nothing moved. Not even the leaves on the trees above their heads. And nothing breathed. Not even Pitch's parasite ridden body. It was as if the entire world had frozen the very instant the dagger sunk into Pitch's flesh.

They stared into each other's eyes—he stunned by what she'd done, she wholly incapable of emotion because of the cloak.

But he could see her complicated non-expression.

And he _knew._

…then…then…the moment was broken. Pitch opened his mouth and emitted a loud, ragged wheeze as his damaged body tried to suck in air. He stumbled back a single step, the scythe in his hands disintegrating into black sand that scattered away into the dark, before losing all strength in his legs. Collapsing to the ground with a dull thud, he stared up at the night sky, his robed chest—still bearing the dagger—rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to draw even the shallowest of breaths.

From his dying form, a whirling black shape emerged. The tainted essence flung itself at Cassandra with such speed it was almost indiscernible to her human eye. Even the Guardians barely managed to react before the parasite's disembodied form collided with her, knocking her to the ground. A furious snarl and a flashing glimpse of jagged teeth was all Cassandra caught of the creature before claws pried her mouth open.

"Cassandra!" several voices rang out, but Cassandra was only vaguely aware of them. All she could think and see and feel and hear was the horrible black magic forcing its way down her throat, choking her, suffocating her, as it wormed its way deep into her body.

* * *

"I don't get it."

She would've sighed had it not been for the cloak. Instead, she answered Frost plainly, "I'm going to have it infect me."

"WHAT?!"

Her ears rang as seven voices rang out in unison: the five Guardians', Jamie Bennett's, and Barb's. The last was the only one Cassandra really cared about, and she didn't dare look to see what was sure to be a devastated expression on the blonde woman's face.

"Cassandra," Barb began hoarsely, "you can't!"

"I can," she replied, "because I'll be just fine."

"Now look, kid," the rabbit spirit said in as gentle a voice as he could muster, given the tremendous shock he'd just received. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, and I get you wanna help Pitch, but sacrificing yourself isn't the best way to go about—"

"It won't be a sacrifice. I told you: I'll be fine."

"How?" North asked. A question mark appeared over Sandman's head at the very same time.

"Until the rite is complete, I am protected by its rules. Even if I take Pitch's life, until I transform and fully assume his role the rite is still technically in effect. Something the parasite is bound to forget once we piss it off."

Tooth Fairy's amethyst eyes were enormous. "It'll attack you," she said in what almost sounded like breathless awe, "and will try to infect you. But Issitoq won't let it. He'll protect you."

"Blimey," Bunnymund murmured.

Nodding once to Tooth and completely ignoring Bunnymund, Cassandra turned to the spirit who stood silent and watchful by the door, a faint smirk quirking one corner of his mouth.

"Once it's forced out again," she said to him, "I will strike it down. That will be my vengeance fulfilled, leaving only yours."

* * *

It was agony. Everything inside her burned as if on fire. Her organs felt simultaneously squeezed tight and stretched taunt. Every one of her bones creaked as if threatening to splinter and shatter outward at any moment.

The magic—thick and black like tar, and just as putrid—gathered at a single focal point deep inside, near her heart, before lashing out at her spine and travelling up and down and out, across every limb and through every vein and into every capillary and even into her brain.

Once it touched her head, the roaring began.

" **YOU BITCH YOU BITCH YOU BITCH! I WILL GUT YOU FROM THE INSIDE! I WILL SHRED YOU OPEN AND FLING YOUR WASTES ACROSS THE ROOFTOPS OF THAT WRETCHED TOWN!**

" **YOU WILL REGRET DOING THIS TO ME!"**

"No, I won't."

That quiet declaration didn't stop the thundering of pain and magic throughout her body, but it did silence the shrieking.

…for about half a second.

" **What did you say? What did you say to me?! WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"**

It fell silent again, and because the thing was now inside her head Cassandra knew it was thinking rapidly, processing what she'd just said.

…then…

" **You're not afraid,"** it hissed. **"Even that wretch was frightened, and he knew what was coming, he** _ **agreed**_ **to it."**

When realization finally struck its stupid, tiny brain, it was already too late. Cassandra had been pushing back against the parasite's invasion all along, for what little good it would do, and now there was another force inside her, one that dwarfed even the parasite's impressive strength. The new, unspeakably potent magic struck fast as a whip, but with the heat and precision of a surgeon's laser. It simply reached into her body, seized hold of the parasite's disembodied form, and smoothly wrenched it out again.

Shrieking was the only defense the foul creature had against such immeasurable influence. And that, of course, proved absolutely useless in the end.

Cassandra blinked, and just like that she was alone within her body once more. Panting and sweating and a bit sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear, she watched the shapeless black mass of the parasite as it was flung carelessly to the ground. Issitoq's far-reaching presence vanished into the wind as if it had never been, leaving the rest for Cassandra to deal with.

 _Gladly._

As the writhing mass on the ground began to take solid shape, Cassandra called forth her magic. Black sand rushed to her hands, twisting and compressing into a familiar weapon: a scythe. It was smaller than Pitch's, and far less unwieldy, with a shorter handle and narrower blade, but it felt quite comfortable in her grip. She was smaller than him, after all, and not nearly as eccentric. With fresh, clean magic surging through her body, she swung the weapon effortlessly, the motion rattling the charms of her bracelet against her arm. Up went the scythe, up and over her shoulder. Then with one swift, flawless motion, it came down again.

Just as the parasite emerged, fully formed, in all its hideous glory, she cleaved it in two; it barely even had time to bear its ugly fangs at her. The two halves collapsed to the ground and immediately broke apart, disintegrating into thousands of wriggling snake-like shapes, just like in her nightmare.

They scattered in every direction, seeking the safety of the trees, yet none of them made it far. For a pair of gray eyes heavily laced with acid green appeared in the gloom. They sat above a wide, menacing smile that promised death.

* * *

"I told you mate. Even if we get it out of him, even if we manage to strike it down, how the bloody hell are we supposed to deal with all the fragments?"

"I believe that is where I step in."

The announcement pulled several startled exclamations from the group. North and Sandman literally leapt apart when the voice spoke from behind them, as if they feared being stabbed in the back. Barb and Jamie Bennett both sneered, while Tooth Fairy's tiny trio chirruped in terror and hid behind their queen.

Frost looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon, he was so disgusted and enraged.

"You!" he snarled, thrusting his staff right into Morsoi's face.

"The hell is he doing here?!" Bunnymund cried out at the exact same time. His emerald eyes seemed fixed to pop out of head. "He can't get in here without—"

"An invitation," Morsoi finished in a smooth voice. He smirked, the green in his eyes brightening for a moment as Bunnymund's fur ruffled crossly. "And I had one," he added, casting Cassandra a pointed look.

"You?" Betrayal was written all over the Pooka's face, despite the glaring fact that they hadn't trusted or even liked each other since the very beginning. His words came in a breathless rush. "You would let him in here? Do you know what he'd do to me, to my realm, if he ever got it in his head—"

"Do you honestly believe me fool enough to attack you, Aster?" the spirit of pestilence questioned, instantly snapping Bunnymund's attention back to him.

"Why not?" the Guardian snarled. "You attacked Sophie!"

"Attacked? My, what harsh accusations these are. Please, Jack Frost, enlighten your companions as to what really happened."

"You tricked her," Jamie hissed. His fists were clenched at his sides, yet his face was stark white, betraying the terror and fury Cassandra could feel rolling off of him in waves. "You tricked my sister, goaded her into breaking the rules and losing her belief. You had no right to do that!"

Morsoi's eyes narrowed as they fixed upon the trembling human.

"Do not presume to know what is or is not within my rights," he breathed in a deadly soft whisper. "Would Issitoq have spared me had I slipped but a single toe out of line, given the initiation of _Mutatis Mutandis_?"

Jamie hesitated, but Bunnymund and Frost had no such reservations.

"You're nothing but a dirty rat!" the former snarled while the latter hollered, "You really wanna die, don't you?!"

Cassandra swung her hand in a sweeping motion, sending a blast of black sand coursing through the room. It vanished before it could touch or harm anyone, but all of them, save Morsoi, flinched regardless.

Into the stark silence that fell afterward, Cassandra said coolly, "This is not the time for petty grievances. Mr. Bennett, as much as I despise what happened to you and your sister, Morsoi is right. Issitoq would have stopped or punished him had he been committing a crime. As for Coach Sophie: she's a grown woman. Regardless of what Morsoi said to her, it was her own choice to come and speak to me."

"It's his fault!" Jamie insisted. Tears flooded his eyes and choked his voice.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I am not going to get drawn into that debate tonight. Either way, hanging onto the past isn't going to make you feel any better."

"Sophie's still your sister," Barb said quietly, laying a gentle hand on the man's arm. "She's still alive and well, and she still loves you. Let that be your focus now, not on him." She cast Morsoi a brief, searing look. "He is nothing compared to her."

Drawing a deep breath in through his nose, Jamie closed his eyes and held very still, as if counting in his head to calm himself. When he opened them again, he gave a brief nod to let Barb he was all right. She offered him a tiny smile in return.

With that that crisis averted, Cassandra redirected their attention to more important matters.

"I called Morsoi here because we need him. Regardless of your quarrels," she said, temporarily raising her voice to silence Bunnymund before the Pooka could utter a single furious word, "we need to consider the nature of our enemy. The parasite can be struck down, yes, but it is as you said: if even one of its parts remains, the creature can regenerate. We would never be able to destroy so many pieces with just the six of us—"

"Nine," Barb interrupted, trying to include herself, Jamie and Salvaguard in the count.

"No. You three need to stay out of this."

"Cassandra—"

"No." Her response was firm. "Without magic you two are defenseless, and outside of your home Salvaguard's strength and ability to defend you become limited. As the weakest links, you would only become the parasite's primary targets."

Barb's lip quavered. "You expect me to just sit back and watch you kill someone?"

"You will not watch. You will be at home, safe, far from where the parasite or any of its lingering parts can reach you. The same goes for you," she said to Jamie Bennett. "You will stay with Barb again tonight. In her house, Salvaguard is untouchable. He will keep you safe, if only because you are in his realm."

Salvaguard shook himself, ruffling his fur, but said nothing to refute what Cassandra had said. Barb looked down at him, betrayal shimmering in her eyes, but she understood. Salvaguard's limitations weren't the Cadejon's fault, just as it wasn't Barb's or Jamie's own fault that they'd been born human, without magic. Barb swallowed thickly and looked away, defeated.

"As I was saying, the six of us alone cannot destroy so many pieces. There's also the chance that in its desperation, the parasite may throw caution to the wind and try to infect one of you. All of you, including your yetis and your fairies, are susceptible to becoming hosts. And Bunnymund doesn't command nearly enough stone eggs to prove suitable. Besides, they're too slow."

"What are you suggesting then?" Bunnymund asked suspiciously.

"Morsoi's sprites are not living beings made of flesh. They are mere specters, like ghosts or wraiths. Call them whatever you want. The point is they do not have hearts or souls or pulses, which means they are useless to the parasite because it cannot infect them and take them as hosts. There are also a lot of them."

"We cannot have that many sprites descend upon Burgess, no matter their intentions," Jack interrupted in earnest.

"They would sicken the children," North insisted, eyes wide with alarm.

"We wouldn't need _all_ of them," Cassandra said, "only a few dozen."

Frost growled out, "That's still too many."

"I can keep my sprites under firm control, Frost, make no mistake about that," Morsoi replied, cold yet impeccably smooth. "However much or little power they exude is purely by _my_ will, not theirs."

"And what reason do you have to not hurt the kids, eh?"

"I don't know, Aster. What reason do I have to do any of this?" Morsoi turned to Cassandra with one eyebrow quirked in question. "Your message was intriguing enough to lure me here, arbiter, but I doubt you expect me to do this simply as a favor to you."

"Of course not. I know how you spirits are with gifts and owing favors."

His lips twitched at the corners, a cunning little smile. "Well, then. My part of the bargain is clear; what do you have to offer me in return?"

"A fair exchange: you help us destroy the parasite, and I will help you with risk management."

The Guardians exchanged confused looks, wondering what she meant. Barb glared, but wisely kept her mouth shut. Morsoi understood perfectly, yet the words still made him eye Cassandra warily.

"You have already agreed to help me," he said slowly.

"As I recall, the only one of us who made a promise that night was you."

Eight pairs of shock-filled eyes locked upon Morsoi, who stood silent for a long time. It was obvious what he was doing: replaying the scene in Barb's living room through his head, reliving the memory and going over it piece by tiny piece, closely examining each word and every minute detail.

Then he smiled broadly, showing all his teeth.

"You are right," he said. "You did not agree. I stand corrected."

He didn't sound displeased by the unexpected revelation at all. In fact, he seemed quite delighted, almost thrilled and (oddly enough) rather amused by the prospect of being proven wrong.

"In exchange for my promise to help you," Cassandra said, "you will help me deal with the parasite. And as payment for not harming the children or Burgess or any of the Guardians during this venture, you will get two additional things you've wanted."

"Oh? And what would those be?"

"Revenge, for one. Surely you've wanted to teach that wretched beast a lesson for being so arrogant as to believe it could swindle you into helping it take over the world. It even caused you to give up on the Plague, after all that hard work you put into making it so grand."

Morsoi's eyes were so very bright they were almost completely green. A faint tremor had taken over his body, although Cassandra could not fathom as to why that was. Surely he wasn't _that_ excited by the prospect of killing, not after doing it for four thousand years.

"And the second thing?" he breathed, as if he dared not break the intensity of the moment by raising his voice any louder than that.

Cassandra forced the corner of her mouth into a smirk. "Entertainment."

* * *

According to plan, the Guardians kept well away from the parasite's many writhing parts. They watched in grim silence as the spirit of pestilence and plague eyed the piles of black serpents with mocking disdain coloring his handsome features.

"It is time you learn what happens when you attempt to deceive and use me," Morsoi practically purred around a cruel smirk. A quick glance into the nearby trees widened that horrible smile further still. "Although it seems I am not the only one who has debts to collect."

The parasite's parts—rendered temporarily immobile by the shock of Morsoi's appearance—bolted as if shot out of a cannon. Morsoi made no move to follow. He simply stood there, surrounded by trees and shadows and watching Guardians as his sprites streaked through the darkness. They tore those hideous pieces to shreds, squeals like strangled piglets ringing in the air as they were slaughtered by the hundreds. Nightmares, too, led by Onyx, stamped and bit and ruthlessly ripped the broken parasite apart, excising all the rage and vengefulness that had built up inside them over many grueling years of servitude.

On and on the massacre went, sprites and mares swarming through the forest like dark specters until a single shrieking form was all that remained of the once-fearsome parasite. Cassandra could see now why the parasite hated to be seen in such a state; it was absolutely pathetic to look at.

The writhing shape was presented to Morsoi by a dutiful sprite, which bowed deeply before scuttling away on its impossibly long arms. Morsoi's tongue slipped out to curl across his upper lip, a look of savage pleasure burning in his acid green eyes.

"I see you, Dybbukol," he hissed triumphantly. "And I have outlived you."

With that, he tore the wretched thing in two.

* * *

He wouldn't last much longer.

She'd really wanted to kill him instantly, to ease his suffering as much as she could, but doing so would've sped up the transformation process, creating a serious risk of her plan backfiring. As much as she wanted to help the spirit everyone knew as Pitch Black, she didn't want to become the parasite's next victim.

From the way he looked at her as she crouched over his sprawled form, she could tell he didn't hold it against her.

His eyes were gray now instead of gold, the color of afternoon shade. There was a small smile upon his lips, which trembled from the force of his wheezing. It ached to look at him, but she kept her hood pushed back and made herself watch. The very least he deserved was to see a friendly face as he departed and know that he was grieved.

It took a bit of effort, but he managed to rasp two small words:

"Thank you."

Blinking hard to fight back her tears, Cassandra somehow managed to keep her voice steady as she replied, "Go now. Be free." She then bent low and whispered his name—his true name—into his ear.

When she straightened up again, it was to see such deep gratitude and relief and _warmth_ reflected in his gaze, Cassandra very nearly had to look away. But he broke their locked gazes first, turning his eyes upward to peer between the swaying leaves at the thin sickle of silver moon.

Two weak, ragged breaths later, he was gone.


	30. Rectified

Author's Note:

So many reasons why this took so long to finish...too many...so I'll just skip it all and get right to the good stuff. (please forgive me my tardiness)

Welcome to all the new readers, reviewers, favorite-button-clickers and followers! Your time and support are much appreciated.

 **Silversun XD:** Thank you for the praise, and sorry it was so sad, but it was necessary.

 **WinterCrystal1009:** Yes, Cassandra is extremely smart for her age. I think it's a combination of intelligence, maturity, having learned early on to cope/fend for herself, and, yes the cloak does help. (Seriously, can you imagine how much easier it would be to think and make decisions if you didn't have 9000 emotions/concerns/worries running through your head at once?)

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** So sorry for your tears, but I'm glad you liked it. Your kind words and praise really warmed my heart. And I don't mind being stuck with you at all. :) After this story is done I plan on going back to my Starfire one-shots, because I've sorta kinda been neglecting them while working on this fic. I haven't posted one in months...which is terrible of me since I keep promising them, but...well...limited time and all that. *shuffles away awkwardly*

 **Skyress1:** Noooo, more tears... I apologize to you and to everyone else who I made cry with the last chapter. On the one hand it lets me know I did my job as a writer at least halfway well, but on the other hand I hate torturing my readers with feels. *comforting hugs*. Yeah, the infighting plan the Guardians hatched did get put aside for quite a while there, so I can see why it would be confusing to you at first. As for Pitch's eyes, I know they're technically gold and silver, but it flows easier I think if I write the description with just one color instead of both every single time. And since they're more gold (in my opinion) than silver, I chose to just use gold. Personal preference/author's laziness I guess.

 **TetraForce214:** Yay, someone new! Hello and welcome! Thank you so very much for the praise, it really does mean a lot to me. :) Hopefully you enjoy this last chapter as well as the epilogue to come.

 **hermonine:** Another new person! Welcome! Is this a soon enough update? ;)

Please enjoy everyone! The last chapter before the epilogue!

* * *

The moment he was gone, a strange yet incredibly potent magic flooded the forest. It filled Cassandra's body, surging through her veins in much the same way as the parasite's foul presence just a short time ago. Unlike the parasite's magic, however, this invasion wasn't threatening, and it didn't hurt at all. It just felt…weird. Heavy and overwhelming, but also oddly comforting; the only thing Cassandra could think of that came even close to describing the sensation was being completely enveloped in a thick, warm quilt.

She couldn't tell how long it took…or if it took long at all. Like wind being sucked out of a tunnel, Cassandra felt her consciousness suddenly yanked back into reality as the foreign magic abruptly retreated. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably, but thankfully she remained steady on her feet.

Blinking, she looked around. The Guardians had stepped back from her, she noticed, as if they'd expected something awful to happen. All five were staring at her with looks that ranged from shock to open awe. Was that a bad thing? Had the loss of her mortality changed her that much? Remembering how Frost had looked as a human compared to how he was now, Cassandra hoped the changes to her own body hadn't been quite so dramatic. A quick glance at her hands revealed she didn't have gray skin, thank god; that was a look she _knew_ she wouldn't have been able to pull off. Instead her complexion appeared to have paled considerably, all traces of the tan she'd earned during track practice lost to the transformation. She was pale enough now to see the delicate veins at the backs of her hands, but not nearly as pale as Frost, much to her relief. Instead of looking sick or frozen over or, worse, vampiric, she simply appeared to be someone who rarely saw the sun.

Given the fact that she was now the spirit of fear and shadow, and was supposed to be frightening, she decided it could have been worse. Hopefully the rest of the changes weren't overly dramatic either.

Speaking of shadow, when Cassandra looked up again she saw just how starkly her perception of the world had changed. If her night vision had been keen before, it was downright vivid now, allowing her to see every tree and leaf and blade of grass with extraordinary detail. The very night seemed to sing, each individual shadow drawing her attention as clearly and intensely as a homing beacon. She knew instinctively that all she had to do was raise her hand and those shadows would bend to her will, enveloping her in a protective shell, concealing her disembodied form, or even lash out at her enemies. In the dead of night, with so much natural darkness surrounding her, she felt exhilarated. Powerful.

Invincible.

Fear touched her then. Light as a snowflake's brush at first, yet when she concentrated on it her attention was drawn to the Guardians. She could sense their personal fears as clearly as if she were reading them from a page in a book, and their greatest fear of all stood out as boldly and starkly to her as a book's emblazoned title. The Guardians watched her apprehensively, clearly expecting her to comment on, if not outright mock them for, their fear. Their worry was groundless, however. While she couldn't pretend she didn't know the fears existed any more than Salvaguard could pretend to care about anyone's safety but Barb's, Cassandra very well _could_ choose not to turn such knowledge into a weapon, as her infected predecessor often had.

She appreciated her own privacy too much to not show others such basic respect.

Morsoi's greatest fear puzzled her, though. For a spirit as ancient as he, she'd half-expected his dread to lie in growing bored with the world (especially with how often he spoke of desiring entertainment), or never reaching the end of his existence, or some other such thing. Instead, his one true fear lay in his belief that he'd never find someone to match him in wit and intelligence.

How insufferably arrogant.

More puzzling still was how that fear was weak, faded almost, compared to the Guardians' fears. After thinking it over some, Cassandra realized it was because the spirit of pestilence and plague had begun to lose that longstanding belief.

 _Is he just growing used to the fact that no one can ever reach his lofty expectations, or is he changing his mind about where his priorities should lie?_

With Morsoi, it was impossible to say.

She was pulled from her musings when the spirit in question approached, a cocky grin on his face and a bit of a swagger in his step.

"My thanks to you, Cassandra Fisher," he said. "This did indeed prove to be a most gratifying night."

Neutral-faced, Cassandra replied, "Give me time to settle matters here, then we can address the other problem."

"Hmm. Indeed, much remains unresolved, does it not?"

He inclined his head in the semblance of a bow, even though his eyes—still sporting a great deal of acid green—remained fixed upon her. In a silky-smooth voice that sparked a curl of distaste in her mouth, he said to her, "I bid you well, Cassandra Fisher. For now."

In a swirl of dust and locusts, he and his sprites vanished.

"Good riddance," she overheard Bunnymund mutter. He flinched when she swiveled her head to look at him. "Sorry," he said, properly chastised without her having to say a single word.

Frost floated over, landing lightly beside Cassandra to get a closer look.

"You look, um…different," he said.

"Nothing like Pitch at all, really," Tooth Fairy agreed, having flitted over to join them.

 _Thank you, Cassandra,_ Sandman said with his symbols. _For everything you've done. Thank you._

"Would have been impossible without you," North rumbled softly. There were tears in his bright blue eyes, though Cassandra couldn't fathom why.

"Stop crying," she snapped. "I don't need your pity."

He sniffed loudly and, just like that, the tears seemed to dry up and vanish as if they'd never been. He glanced in the general direction of Burgess and suggested lowly, "I think you should see them now."

Knowing he meant Barb and Mr. Bennett, Cassandra nodded her head once before sinking into the shadows. Travelling in her disembodied form had never been easier, as easy and simple as flying had been. In the wake of such discovery, the prospect of never flying again didn't seem quite so bad anymore.

Barb and Mr. Bennett were both wide awake, even though it was now past midnight and they had work in the morning. The teacher was seated on the couch, elbows on his knees and face half-hidden in his hands while his legs jiggled restlessly. Barb paced back and forth like a caged lioness, her blonde hair exceptionally messy thanks to having a hand shoved through it in agitation one too many times. Both jumped when they saw a humanoid figure appear in shadow along the wall, but sagged with relief when Cassandra emerged to properly join them.

"Cassandra!"

Barb practically threw herself at the girl, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. Cassandra returned it as best she could, burying her face in the woman's shoulder. When they finally broke apart, Barb ran her hands over Cassandra's face several times, studying her intently. "You look different."

"So I've been told."

"You're not as scary as I'd imagined," Mr. Bennett noted. He stood beside them with an awkward smile plastered on his face, and his hands in his pockets as if he wasn't entirely sure what to do with them. "I guess the spirituality's different for everyone, huh."

Barb was still brushing her fingers over Cassandra's features, touching her eyes and lips and cheekbones and chin, even her hair.

"You look different," she repeated, "but still stunning."

The honesty made Cassandra smile. "Thanks."

"Still got the cloak I see," the blonde added with a disdainful sniff. She eyed the thing darkly for a moment before her expression softened. "But I suppose its poor manners to speak ill of the dead, so I'll refrain. Especially since he didn't really mean it the way it was supposedly intended." She sighed deeply. "He really was a cunning man, wasn't he?'

Throat too tight to actually speak, Cassandra merely nodded.

"Are you going to keep wearing that?" Mr. Bennett suddenly asked, eyeing her jeans, windbreaker jacket and sneakers with raised brows. "It just doesn't seem…appropriate, given your new position."

Cassandra sniped, "Would you rather I wear a black robe and a scary mask?"

"Well, no," he said, looking a bit sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Just…I don't know. It just doesn't fit the look of a spirit of fear, is all."

"I wasn't exactly thinking about 'looking the part' this morning," she coolly reminded him. "At that point I still wasn't even sure what that part would be. I can always change."

The last part was spoken with a frown, for at that moment Barb was busy pawing through the pockets of her jacket. Pulling out Cassandra's iPod, she told the girl, "I'll charge it for you," as if she'd done nothing at all out of the ordinary, and left the room without another word.

Cassandra and Mr. Bennett watched her go in confused silence. Eventually Mr. Bennett shrugged while Cassandra left the living room as well, heading for her room. A quick skim through her belongings showed nothing worth keeping; her charm bracelet and cloak were the only things that had really mattered to her, and she was already wearing them. She removed her jacket and tossed it carelessly across the bed; she doubted she'd need it, and if it turned out she did it wasn't as if she couldn't come back and get it.

 _It's not like I'm changing size anytime soon._

But as she looked at the discarded garment, a sudden thought came to her. It was a depressing, almost morbid thought, but…

After a bit of contemplation, Cassandra made up her mind picked the jacket up again, draping it over her arm. She then made to leave the room but caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the dresser and paused, staring at it.

Her skin was pale, as she already knew, which made her newly sharpened cheekbones appear even more dramatic. Brown eyes had become silver, the color of the element mercury, and when she leaned over to flick the light on and off, she noticed her pupils blew up to enormous proportions like a cat's when it was dark and shrank down to almost nothing when it wasn't. Contrasting the paleness of those features was her hair, which had darkened significantly yet wasn't _quite_ black, as her experiment with the bedroom lights revealed. (Considering how rarely she'd be in direct sunlight from now on, though, it would probably continue to maintain the illusion of being truly black.) Her nose looked the same as it always did, thank god, and when she opened her mouth her teeth were normal too. Her tongue, though, was slimmer and much longer than it had been when she was human, with a pointed tip. Cassandra scrunched her face scrunched in disgust when she noticed, but supposed having a disgusting tongue was better than countless other possibilities. At least no one would notice the difference unless she purposefully showed them, and when would she ever need to do that? She wasn't a toddler with a habit of sticking her tongue out at people.

All in all, Cassandra didn't mind the changes in her appearance, and figured she could get used to them easily enough. The transformation could have been a lot worse—there were some rather horrid looking spirits out there, as her trip to Ikiaq had revealed.

 _Here's hoping the ugliness doesn't come out when I get mad, like Morsoi's does._ The mere thought made her shudder. _Good thing I have the cloak._

Self-examination complete, she left the room to find Barb. She found her sitting in her room on her bed, laptop open at her side. Barb stared blankly at Cassandra's charging iPod, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

"Barb?"

The woman startled. "Oh, Cassandra." Hastily wiping at her face, she said with a forced smile, "I didn't even hear you come in. You were always so good at sneaking up on people. Glad to see some things didn't change…"

Her voice trailed off. Cassandra went to her and sat down, the mattress sinking a bit under her weight. The silence between them was heavy with many unspoken things. Barb eventually took her hand, warm fingers turning wrist this way and that so her charms rattled faintly.

"I'll always wear them," Cassandra promised. "And I'll come back whenever my iPod needs charging."

Barb still looked unspeakably distraught. Yet she was valiantly trying to hold it together, even managing to meet Cassandra's gaze as she replied, "You'd better use it every day, then. I expect to see you at least once a month."

"I expect you to keep an updated music list, since I won't exactly have internet access."

"I'd better not hear any stories about you scaring the pants off some poor babies in their beds. Spirit of fear or not, that's just undignified and uncalled for."

"I'd better not hear about you prying too far into spirit business. No need making Morsoi any more suspicious than he already is."

"Ugh, don't say his name around me. The very sound makes me gag."

They grinned at each other, and for a brief moment their smiles were almost warm with genuine humor. Then the moment broke, and Barb threw her arms around her again. Cassandra felt the woman's tears soak through her cloak, warming her skin. She felt very near to crying herself, and clutched Barb tightly to stave off the wave of uncomfortable emotion.

"Stay strong," Barb whispered into her shoulder. "Those spirits robbed you of your humanity; don't let them take anything else away. Don't ever disrespect or degrade yourself by bending your morals to satisfy them."

"I won't," Cassandra swore solemnly.

Barb said nothing in response to that. She simply held Cassandra even tighter.

* * *

She stayed with Barb for another hour or so, planning for the immediate future. Mr. Bennett soon joined them in sitting on the bed, expression grim as Cassandra explained the idea she'd had.

"Are you sure you can do this?" she inquired of the man. "It's going to be a lot of pressure, mentally and emotionally. They aren't going to let up for a while."

"I know," he said. Drawing a shaky breath, he added, "But it has to be done, right? It's impossible to deny my involvement, so being upfront about everything from the beginning will be better than being called out on the spot."

Barb laid a hand on his arm. "Are you absolutely sure? After what happened the other night…"

"I'm positive. I can talk to Jack and the others again, so if worse comes to worst I can always spend some time with them. Get away for a bit."

"All right."

Barb stood up. She reached into her pocket, then the other pocket, before casting around in hopeless frustration for her phone. "Where in the hell do I always put that damn thing?"

As it turned out, it was sitting by the kitchen sink. Once the phone was located, Barb breathed a weary sigh before telling Cassandra, "I think its best you leave now."

"I can stay. This is going to be hard on you too."

"Telling all these personal stories about you with you standing right there will be even harder," Barb quietly admitted.

Cassandra swallowed thickly, but nodded her acquiescence. As Barb began to dial her phone, she slipped into the shadows and left the duplex behind.

She paused on the edge of town, wondering where she ought to go. It really struck her then, for the first time, how she wasn't just a spirit now—she was also technically homeless. From what little she knew of the spirit world, most spirits made a realm for themselves and that was their home, but she imagined such a feat took a significant amount of time and knowledge and power. She didn't want to be an eternal wanderer like Frost, and she didn't want to hang around uselessly night after night either. …But where on earth could she go?

It took quite a bit of thought, but Cassandra eventually decided to return to her predecessor's realm. Even if the place no longer existed now that he was gone, it was a good location for her to eventually build her own home. It was quiet, relatively secluded, and plenty big enough. More importantly, it was close enough to Burgess and to Barb that Cassandra could keep her promise to visit often with little hassle to either one of them.

She sincerely hoped his old realm still existed. Not because it would make her job of claiming and building a home easier, but because he'd liked it so much. It was one of the few marks he'd personally left upon the world, the realm and the Nightmares being the only things he'd ever created with his own hand, power, and imagination, apart from the cloak she wore. (The parasite had made itself quite clear on how much it detested both, for in its arrogance and selfishness it believed such things to be entirely beneath it.) Cassandra wanted to preserve his memory as best she could, to show him in death a single shred of the respect and recognition he should've received during his existence.

 _I won't be the same spirit of fear as he by any extent, but it is_ because _of him that I will be different._

No one would ever forget that, not even herself. She would make sure of it.

To her slight surprise, the realm still stood. …Or at least the shell of it did. The hole was still there, but the broken bedframe guarding the entrance was gone. The cave entrance still existed as well, but when Cassandra emerged into what had once been the great hall, it was immediately clear that all the stone and debris had vanished away. All that remained of the ruins were vast, empty rooms, a naked shell even eerier and more depressing than last time she'd been in them.

As she walked the massive room, her light-footed steps echoing hollowly (if quietly) in the silence, she saw only one recognizable thing remained: the black metal globe on its pedestal. But even that was not intact, for the globe no longer moved and the bright golden lights representing the Guardians' believers were all out.

Cassandra crossed to it. Reaching out a hand, she tentatively touched the cold metal of the globe. A tiny spark of magic slipped through her fingers, and the globe began to rotate. Still no lights, though, which made her wonder why the thing still existed. What good was a broken piece of equipment?

With a silent scoff, she made to turn away, yet something strange caught her eye, leading her to pause.

The Western Hemisphere was slowly making its way past her. As it did so, she saw up in the northeastern part of North America, in the general region of New England, two small silver lights. They were squashed quite close together, nearly on top of one another, as if trying vainly to occupy the exact same space.

 _Barb and Mr. Bennett._

Cassandra's eyes widened. The implications of the changes in the globe were mindboggling. If she had her own globe now, with her own lights for believers, did that mean she was supposed to gather more? But that would make her no better than the Guardians, and she did _not_ want to be like them. She wasn't going to bribe or beg for believers, and she sure as hell wasn't going to put herself in a position where she would literally die if no humans believed in her anymore. That would be absolutely stupid, not to mention overdramatic.

What was she supposed to do, then?

"Is this supposed to be a hint?" she whispered to no one in particular. Issitoq might have heard—he was always watching and listening, not that it mattered. He wouldn't have answered her even if he had.

With a quiet sigh, Cassandra turned her back to the globe. Its purpose was a question she could ponder another night, when she didn't have so many other, more pressing matters to attend to.

One of which was now staring her right in the eye.

Standing at the top of the globe platform, Cassandra stared down into Onyx's unblinking eyes. Although she couldn't see them, she knew the others were dissolved in the nearby shadows, watching.

Onyx bared her teeth. Rising up on her hind legs, she thrashed her hooves and screamed a challenge before diving into a full charge. She galloped at top speed, black sand streaming out behind her, each individual grain like a beacon in Cassandra's newly-transformed sight.

Baring her own teeth in a silent snarl, Cassandra shouted, "Enough!"

The mare stopped immediately, though she had two hooves on the first steps of the globe platform and continued to snap and whicker loudly, threateningly.

"Enough of that," Cassandra said in a commanding tone. "I will not be your master if you do not wish it, but you will _not_ attack me!"

Just like that, Onyx fell quiet. She no longer stomped her hooves or tossed her head, no longer screamed or gnashed her teeth. She stood there, quiet and passive, ears cocked and head tipped slightly to one side in a considering way.

"I mean it," Cassandra said in a quiet tone. She looked at Onyx as she spoke, but addressed every mare in attendance. "I will not force you into servitude like the parasite did. But if you choose not remain here and assist me, you must adhere to these rules: do not attack me, and do not feed off of my believers. I may not have many, and do not ever plan to have many, but I will not be used by you as a free source of fear."

Onyx considered her a moment longer. Then the whole of her black sand body relaxed. She emitted a quiet snort, and the rest of the Nightmares appeared from the shadows, gathering close in a completely non-threatening way. If anything, they reminded Cassandra of children crowding a parent or teacher to eagerly await an announcement.

Realizing what had happened, Cassandra glared at Onyx. "Were you testing me?"

The mare tilted her head ever so slightly to the right and flicked her tail, demonstrating what had to be the horse equivalent of a shrug.

Cassandra clenched her jaw to silence any harsh words that wanted to spring to her tongue. She supposed the mares' test was only to be expected. They'd been all too eager to help destroy the parasite's many parts, but that didn't necessarily mean they were prepared to serve a spirit who wasn't their original creator, especially one as new to the spirit world as she. Yet Onyx and the others appeared satisfied, which meant Cassandra had passed the test.

 _She wanted to see if I would be frightened of them, just as I was tested with a nightmare the first time I met their master._

That thought led her to another, which she voiced aloud:

"Did he tell you to obey me?"

Onyx blew a sharp breath threw her nostrils, yet Cassandra understood it as clearly as if the mare had spoken aloud in English: _Yes._

She was capable of understanding the others too, she realized then. Their quiet whickers and snorts and purposeful clattering of hooves echoed in her ears like the murmur of a crowd, not entirely intelligible yet completely recognizable as coherent speech. She was stunned. She'd known her predecessor had spoken with the mares and could understand them, but she hadn't expected it to be this _clear._

 _Yes, master told us._

 _Master instructed us to obey._

 _Didn't want to at first—_

 _No._

— _but you're much better than the false one._

 _Yes, the_ false one, _so glad it is dead._

 _Yes, very glad._

 _Would kill it again if we could!_

 _Yes!_

 _Yes! Most definitely! Would kill it again!_

Although she didn't let it show on her face, Cassandra was amazed. Each and every Nightmare had a unique voice, just as humans did. They had physical differences as well, she noticed, subtle enough to require the power of her shadow magic to discern them. That meant they truly were individuals, and not mere clones or copies, as they so often appeared to be.

"You all have names?" she inquired.

 _Yes,_ several "voices" said in unison. They then began to talk at once, pressing closer and closer to her while bumping into and snapping at one another as they tried to introduce themselves at the same time.

"Enough," Cassandra said again, but far more gently than she had the last time. "I will learn your names in time. For now, we must discuss the future."

Obediently, they fell silent, heads cocked in curiosity.

"While I will certainly need your strength and loyalty in the many nights to come, I don't think it'd be wise for all of you to remain active at the same time. If too many of you are seen out and about at night, there's bound to be a number of spirits, including the Guardians, who will see it as an act of aggression."

They grumbled and snapped at the very mention of the Guardians.

After pausing a moment to think, Cassandra continued. "Choose from amongst yourselves two or three to remain in my shadow and serve me on a nightly basis. No one will begrudge me a few active mares. No one in their right mind, anyway," she added with a grumble. "As for the rest of you… I do not want you to remain here all the time without anything to do, as that would grow boring I'm sure—"

 _We will not be bored,_ one of the mares said simply.

 _No,_ said another. _We will sleep._

"Sleep?"

 _While in shadow, we can enter stasis,_ Onyx informed her.

"Like hibernation?"

 _Yes._

 _Can sleep for a long time,_ said the first Nightmare that had spoken. Others piped up after her.

 _Yes._

 _Hibernate._

 _Yes._

 _We can stay in stasis a long time._

 _Master can call us whenever she needs us, we'll come at once._

 _Yes, we'll come at once._

 _We'll always hear master._

 _Yes._

 _Master just has to call, and we'll come._

 _Master is smart._

 _Very smart._

 _Not like the false one._

 _No, not like it at all._

 _Master knows other spirits will play tricks._

 _Accuse her falsely, yes._

 _Try to attack while she's weak._

 _But master is not weak._

 _Oh, no._

 _No, master's not weak. Master is strong._

 _And will only get stronger!_

 _Master will be a good master._

 _Master will trick the tricky ones, like she tricked the false one._

 _Yes!_

 _Master is trickiest of all!_

Cassandra shook her head and caught Onyx's gaze. "As I said: you lot decide which ones will stay with me. The others can go into stasis."

A couple of mares called out:

 _Only if master calls when needed!_

 _Yes! Call if we're needed!_

"Of course I'll call," she placated them with a stifled sigh of frustration. "I know there's only so much I can do on my own. There _is_ only one of me."

Satisfied with her answer, the mares turned to face one another. The conference was quick and quiet, and it appeared that Onyx, as the leader of the Nightmares, had final say. When the group finally broke apart, it was Onyx who told Cassandra, _I will stay, as well as Obsidian and Timber._

"Timber?"

An odd name for a Nightmare. The only references to timber she'd ever heard of were in regards to wood or a particular shade of gray she'd once seen in an oversized box of crayons in kindergarten.

 _It is not her given name,_ Onyx said, a look of resigned frustration pinching her golden eyes. _But she insists on using it._

 _I like it,_ the mare in question huffed, a puff of hot air blowing out through her nostrils.

 _It is ridiculous._

 _Is not._

 _Is so._

 _Is not!_

"All right," Cassandra said loudly, putting a stop to _that_ before it got out of hand. "Onyx, Obsidian and Timber. You three stay."

All but the three designated mares departed for the shadows, calling as they left:

 _Until you call us, master!_

 _Yes, until you call._

Once they were gone, Cassandra studied the three remaining mares thoughtfully. While she could appreciate their current aesthetic—they _were_ wonderful creations, despite the fact they'd come from children's corrupted dreams—she didn't want to leave them exactly as they were. Considering the circumstances by which she'd come to inherit the role of spirit of fear and shadow, she wanted to put her own personal stamp on things, claim the position for her own. The realm itself, having been essentially wiped clean, could be rebuilt in time according to her own desires. The mares though…

Reshaping their current forms would probably undermine her predecessor's lingering power and influence. Cassandra didn't want to irreparably damage them or, worse, destroy them, not when they'd only _just_ come into her care.

 _But if I were to give them the ability to take on a_ new _shape…_

An image took shape in her mind: bold and strong, sleek and swift, simple and practical yet also unmistakable and unforgettable. With a small, cunning smile, Cassandra lifted her hand and summoned her power. The three waiting mares dissolved into black sand, the separate masses swirling together into a single thick cloud. The grains were then purposefully rearranged and solidified into a new, magnificent mare.

 _Very nice,_ the voice of Timber (obviously the most boisterous of the three personalities) declared happily.

 _Indeed,_ Onyx said with more restraint, but Cassandra could still tell that the mare was pleased. Their words were oddly garbled, like there was bad feedback or static affecting their vocal cords, but thanks to her magically heightened attunement to the mares' individual presences she could still differentiate between them. She supposed the 'noise' was only to be expected, considering their three consciousnesses were now one, all speaking from the same body.

Because she'd used sand from three mares, the new Nightmare she'd created was no longer hollow, but solid, and much larger and stockier than any individual mare. Cassandra knew this mare could still run effortlessly through the sky if they wanted to, but would be a bit slower because of their greater size; to compensate (and to individualize it even further), she'd given them enormous bat-like wings and smoothed out their body so they looked less like a creature from a nightmare and more like a standard horse. She kept the facial features largely the same, though of course they'd become bigger and more prominent in proportion to the mare's greater size. Enormous golden eyes gleamed with immense satisfaction as the new Nightmare pegasus flapped their wings experimentally, upsetting the dust and dirt scattered across the bare realm floor.

 _Wonderful,_ Timber whinnied. The sound echoed deafeningly against the empty walls.

 _So much power!_ Obsidian noted happily.

 _Yes!_

The pegasus lifted off the floor and began to fly tighter and tighter circles around the room, glorying in their newfound strength and abilities with resounding whinnies. Cassandra couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Come," she said. "Let us go out and see just how fast we can go."

* * *

As it turned out, "fast" was something of an understatement. The pegasus Nightmare wasn't quite as fast as Salvaguard, but would certainly give the Cadejon a run for his money, especially if they were flying. As she'd expected, the mare was much faster in flight than on foot, and Cassandra threw back her head as the wind whipped at her hair, relishing in the sensation. The dark strands streamed behind her like a storm cloud, mirroring the ethereal stream of sand her pegasus mare left behind just as their individual forms did while running.

She couldn't be sure how far their jaunt took them. In the past, whenever she'd flown, Cassandra had been too focused on getting somewhere quickly and unseen to really study her surroundings. Now, though, she had no such quandaries and could really focus on enjoying the view. With time, she expected she would come to recognize individual cities and towns just from the aerial view of their gleaming windows and lamplight.

 _And time I will have._

They returned to Burgess just as the first rays of dawn began to gleam on the horizon. Much to her consternation, the light was accompanied by an increasingly prickling feeling at the nape of her neck and back of her throat.

"Are you unable to go out during the day, or was it just a preference?" she inquired of the mares. They were flying at a lazy pace now, so the words weren't carried away by the wind.

 _For us, it is impossible to go out into the sunlight,_ Onyx informed her.

 _But you can, master,_ Timber piped up.

 _Yes,_ you _can,_ Obsidian agreed.

"But he never—"

 _You are not him,_ Onyx interrupted, having guessed where her train of thought was going. _Shadows and fear do not only exist at night. You are a dark spirit, yes, but unlike others you are not bound to the darkness._

"Then why do I feel sick with the sun touching me even this little bit?"

 _It is a warning._

 _Yes, a warning._

 _You can go out in daylight,_ Onyx explained, _but you will be very weak. And without us._

"So I _can_ go out, it's just not recommended." She thought about that for a while. "Well," she said at last, "it's always night time somewhere in the world."

 _Yes!_ Timber neighed in joyful agreement.

 _It is indeed,_ Onyx said.

Unfortunately, Cassandra's good mood deflated somewhat as they flew over Burgess. On the way back to her new realm they passed close to Barb's house, and even though Cassandra had been expecting it (had been the one to plan it, in fact), she couldn't help but feel both worry and concern when she saw the flashing red and blue lights lining the street. There had to be at least a dozen cops there.

 _Explanation for your disappearance?_ Onyx guessed.

"Yes," Cassandra said quietly. "We agreed to make it look as if I'd run away."

 _Cannot sense much fear from them,_ Obsidian noted.

 _No,_ Timber said. _Not much fear at all._

"That's because they know it will work. They haven't done anything wrong, and they'll only tell the truth: I stayed there for a while, and then I was gone, and they have no idea where I went."

 _You did not tell them about the realm, how close it is?_

"I will later. For now, it's easier for them to say they don't know where I am if they really don't know."

 _Good thing the grown-child never saw the realm,_ Timber said to the other mares.

 _Yes, good thing._

 _Or he would know._

 _Yes, then he would know._

"Mr. Bennett doesn't know where the realm is?"

 _He never saw._

 _And Guardians would not tell._

 _No they would not._

 _Can only tell humans of their own realms._

 _Yes, or the Eyes grow angry._

 _Yes. Very angry._

"Does that rule apply for all spirits, or just the Guardians?"

 _All, perhaps._

"Perhaps?"

 _We're not certain._

 _No, not certain at all._

 _We're not true spirits, and cannot tell humans anything._

 _So rule does not matter to us._

 _No, not to us._

Cassandra had known there were an extensive number of rules for spirits to follow, but it seemed there were a great many more than she'd previously thought. Something would have to be done about that. She couldn't (and wouldn't) trust any of the other spirits to be honest with her in regards to what was and wasn't allowed—except maybe Sandman—and she couldn't afford to survive solely by trial and error.

 _I suppose a trip or two to Ikiaq is in order._

With a stifled sigh, Cassandra decided to give herself the freedom to worry about that another time. For now, she had a realm to see to.

* * *

By nine a.m., everyone in Burgess knew Cassandra Fisher was missing. The news of an unexplained disappearance/presumed runaway caused quite the stir in the small, close-knit town, with everyone wanting to know exactly what had happened and why. It seemed every single resident had a story to tell about the case, but the truth of the matter was very few people actually knew the missing child well enough to provide any useful information.

Deeply concerned yet frustrated by the lack of helpful details, the police had questioned Barb extensively: When did you last see her? What was she wearing? Why did you wait until now to report her missing? Why is that man here? How long have you known him? Do you know where she's likely to go? Did she ever talk to you about feeling down or depressed? Why was she here, and not at her dad's? How long as she been staying here with you? Why did you never report her injuries to the police if you were concerned enough about them to take her to the hospital?

Barb answered most of them honestly, or as honestly as she could without sounding like a complete lunatic. The only ones she had to blatantly lie about were why Mr. Bennett was at her house when the police first arrived and why she'd waited so long to report Cassandra missing.

"I knew Cassandra participated in track and field, I thought perhaps her coach would know something," she'd explained. "But I found out she was out of town, so I asked her brother instead. He's a teacher at her school so he knows Cassandra pretty well I think."

"You think?"

"I can't say for certain. I'm not a mind reader, and Cassandra wasn't one to discuss her feelings very often. The Bennetts did come by the house one time to talk to her. I sat with them at the deli, but didn't eavesdrop. I didn't think it was my place."

"So you believed they at least suspected something was going on with her at school?"

"Not at school, necessarily, I think it was something more personal. Like I said, she didn't talk about her feelings much, and didn't have friends as far as I know, so I think the Bennetts were just worried about her."

"And it didn't strike you as odd that they approached her at home instead of at school?"

"A little, yes, but I didn't know Cassandra well at the time so I didn't question her about it. That was before I started taking care of her full time."

"Where was her father when the Bennetts came over?"

"Asleep is what Cassandra told me. Like I said, I was concerned enough to make sure nothing serious was going on, but otherwise stayed out of it. But since they were the only ones who'd at least taken notice of a potential issue and approached her about it, I thought they might know more about where she could've gone."

"And that's why you didn't go to the police right away?"

"Yes."

"You know time is of the essence with this sort of thing."

"Of course I know that. But I also know Cassandra. When she was with her dad, she wandered out of the house in the dead of night to go for a walk at least once that I was aware of. She's an extremely private person, and I didn't want to make a huge fuss out of things if I could help it. On the off chance she'd just wanted to be alone for a while, I was afraid the commotion would drive her away."

"Literally or emotionally?"

"Literally. In case you haven't noticed, Cassandra didn't exactly make herself at home here. She even didn't unpack her bag. It was like she was expecting to be thrown out or forced out or something. When she disappeared, I waited and waited, hoping she'd come back, and when she didn't I went to Mr. Bennett in hopes he'd know something. When neither of us could find her…"

It was exhausting. But it was even worse for Jamie Bennett. As the day wore on and more and more people became involved in the investigation, it became increasingly clear to anyone with half a brain that the police were paying increasingly close attention to him, digging into the teacher's past and asking some very personal questions of his acquaintances and coworkers. They didn't come right out and say he was a suspect, insisting that he was merely a "person of interest", but everyone knew what that really meant. They suspected him, but didn't have any evidence.

Barb feared the pressure would break the already fragile man. There were times where he looked so hopeless and lost, she truly worried they'd pressure him into giving a false confession just to try and regain some vague sense of control over his own life.

What neither she, nor Jamie Bennett, nor the police department expected was the furious public backlash garnered by the investigation's focus. Upon her return, Sophie Bennett marched right down to the station and practically tore the lead investigator a new one. Phones set up for the tip and information line rang off the hook day and night, with people telling the policemen and women they ought to be ashamed of themselves and mercilessly berating them for their complete incompetence. Teachers and even parents approached Jamie at school to offer reassurance and support, and even those who genuinely believed the man was crazy for all his stories about the Guardians insisted that he was harmless.

"Oh, he's batty as hell, but he'd never hurt a fly. Go badger Fisher's dad, I haven't seen _him_ shed a tear over this!"

Whether or not it was due directly to the outpouring of support for Jamie Bennett, the police did indeed start scrutinizing the missing child's parents. Much of Barb's testimony (in addition to her research into adoption, which was found rather easily during a cursory search into the woman's laptop browsing history) indicated that Cassandra Fisher came from a broken family, one that truly couldn't care less if the child was well or not. Fisher's mother told collaborating investigators in New York that she'd sent the child to live with her father and freely admitted to not giving a shit about what happened after that, as it was no longer her problem. She even slammed the door in their faces. As much as the police detested such a callous response, being a cold-hearted bitch wasn't a crime, so they were forced to let her be. As for Randy Fisher… Evidence piled higher and higher with that man. Despite being Cassandra's sole caregiver, he'd been out drinking with his friends until the wee hours of the morning on more than one occasion. Between those drinking binges and his long work hours, he couldn't have spent much time at home. He was also embroiled in a fierce, bitter custody battle with his ex-girlfriend, Carol Thomas, who was, among other things, claiming she'd suffered verbal, emotional and physical abuse while living at his home. Randy vehemently denied the accusations, insisting his ex was making up the domestic abuse in a low attempt to gain custody of their young son. And if there'd been shouting matches, well, "she gave as good as she got".

Upon learning of these things, the police interviewed Barb again, delving even deeper into how she'd come into unofficial guardianship over Cassandra. The blonde reluctantly revealed that she'd often overheard Randy and Carol screaming at each other through the thin walls, and that Cassandra had come to her side of the duplex several times with baby Harold in tow to escape the fighting. No, she'd never seen any indication of bruises or wounds on either adult or the children, but she couldn't explain, either, how Cassandra had wound up with injuries bad enough to warrant hospitalization. Randy hadn't been home, she'd explained, and Cassandra had never opened up enough to her to tell her what had happened. No, she'd never asked Randy about it, because the man had shown blatant disinterest in the child's welfare. He never went to the hospital, never stopped by to inquire about her condition, despite living right next door, and never questioned the fact that Cassandra's things had disappeared from his home the very next morning, which really should've tipped him off that something was going on, shouldn't it?

All of this painted a very grim picture of Randy Fisher, who was summoned to the station for questioning. This stirred up quite the rumor mill in Burgess, and caused Randy to rage at the investigators—several of whom he knew personally, an inevitability in such a small town—about why his name was being dragged through the mud when he already had enough shit going on in his life.

"Blame that blonde bitch next door!" he insisted. "She's the one who up and took Cassy out from under me! How's it my fault she lost her? No, I _didn't_ ask about her, all right? I was too damn busy trying to keep my job and keep my bitch of an ex from taking away my son! You think I got time to worry about some kid I barely know when my own baby's being dangled in front of me by a vindictive wench? She was being fed and went to school, why the hell would I question anything else beyond that?"

Within a week, the police went on the news to formally announce that they had arrested Randy Fisher on charges of child abandonment, child neglect, medical neglect, endangerment, and abuse, the latter two stemming from the fact that his leaving Cassandra alone for extended periods of time had led directly to her sustaining serious injuries inside his home.

Needless to say, once he was arrested he lost his custody battle with Carol, much to the woman's glee. If anyone were to ask (which thankfully no one did), Barb genuinely expected young Harold to either be a runaway himself or in the foster care system within a few short years. Bad personal history aside, Carol was _not_ a loving mother. She spoiled her son, yes, and doted on him, but only for attention for herself. Barb knew it was only a matter of time before poor Harold grew old enough to realize that.

* * *

A few days after the arrest of Randy Fisher, Jamie Bennett's life had finally begun to calm down. His daily routine had regained at least some marginal sense of normalcy, for which he was terribly grateful. Dealing with the police had been grueling. Why they'd suspected him of anything, apart from that lunch meeting with Cassandra (which, yes, he could admit was odd, but it had been conducted in a public place with both his sister and Barb in attendance, so what was the problem?) was beyond him. He'd never been so thankful to hear that someone else had been arrested in his life.

Sophie had been a queen since the whole sordid affair had started. She'd returned to town like a bat out of hell, ripping into anyone who dared question her brother's innocence and refusing to leave his side except to go to work. She'd practically moved into his apartment during the investigation, both to provide emotional support and to offer him alibis should the police try to turn on him with some convoluted story. They'd stayed up late more nights than not, having long, heartfelt conversations about a great number of things. It felt really good to get so much off his chest, and venting to his sister about the absurdity of whatever story the police were trying to spin out of Cassandra Fisher's disappearance and his involvement in it proved to be excellent stress relief.

Nothing prepared him for what came about one bright Saturday afternoon, however. Jamie was called back to the school building by Marshall, the principal, who'd grimly informed him on the phone that he had something very important to discuss. Fearing for his job, Jamie arrived expecting the worst. He adjusted his tie and smoothed back his hair with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Raising his chin resolutely, he used his security pass to open the door and made his way into the office.

Janet Price was there, and she didn't look very happy. There wasn't a single trace of the perky smile she usually wore to greet him.

"Hello, Jamie," she said.

"Hello," he managed to choke out. Then, because his brain was an idiot, he said around a very awkward laugh, "I feel like I'm about to get detention."

She didn't laugh back, which dropped a chunk of cold ice right into his stomach. He was dying to ask if he was about to be fired, but his tongue felt like lead and didn't want to move.

"Follow me," Janet said, and Jamie shuffled after her with a bowed head.

He didn't realize they were heading for the gymnasium until they were already passing through the wide double doors, and by that point he didn't have time to ponder what on earth they were doing there.

"SURPRISE!"

Jamie nearly fell over from shock. Janet actually had to catch him, laughing and grinning as she gripped his arm to keep him on his feet. Clutching at his chest, Jamie gawped at the scene before him.

"Wha—"

"Isn't it great?" Sophie cried over the chatter. She dashed to her brother's side, tripping over her own feet and nearly falling herself in the process. She was so delighted she didn't even get mad about it, just grinned hugely as she hugged her brother tight.

"What is all this?" he rasped, feeling oddly lightheaded. His eyes were about to pop out of his head, he was sure of it. There were _so many_ people there…half the town at least! And they all looked so happy to see him, which was simply bizarre. There were balloons and confetti and streamers, and tables piled high with enough food to make even North's parties look paltry by comparison.

"The kids thought of it," Sophie began, breaking off with a laugh when several dozen of the youngsters rushed forward at once to crush Jamie in the center of a massive group hug.

"You did?" he asked, staring down at them all.

"You've been so sad," little Troy Bellings said into his knees. The boy looked up, a massive, innocent smile plastered on his freckled face. "We wanted you to be happy!"

"We planned everything!" his older brother Trevor announced. "But the teachers helped."

"Our mommies and daddies too!" Meghan called, giggling as a balloon floated by.

Jamie gaped at them. They were all there: Troy and Trevor and Meghan, Logan and William and Francis (who insisted everyone call him Mark, even though his middle name was Laken), everyone from his own class and many other classes besides. Their parents were present, as were all the teachers and staff from the school and a good many more from other schools in the district. He didn't even know half these people very well, yet they'd all come here, put this spectacle together…for _him_?

"We all know you've been going through a rough patch," Marshall said, wading through the crowd of bouncing kids to lay a hand on Jamie's shoulder and murmur into his ear. "We wanted you to know we appreciate everything you do for this school, for the kids, and that we're behind you one hundred percent."

"One hundred percent," Sophie echoed.

Jamie…didn't know what to say. He was afraid if he tried to talk, he'd burst into tears.

Marshall, seeming to understand from Jamie's expression alone, patted the other man on the shoulder.

"Come on," he coaxed. "It's your party. Have some cake!"

"CAKE!" several young voices shrieked in unison, and that set off a mad stampede for the dessert table. Several parents hollered "Eat first!" but most of their children didn't hear.

Within minutes, Jamie found himself with a plate of food, chatting away and feeling better than he had in weeks.

He didn't see Jack Frost sitting high up in the rafters, watching the festivities unfold with a wide grin on his pale face. The frost spirit's eye fell upon little Troy Bellings, and his grin widened.

"Well done, kid," he murmured with approval. "Well done."


	31. Epilogue-On and On

Author's note:

Well, everyone, this is it. The epilogue. Thank you all so very, very much for sticking with me on this, especially those of you who have been around since day one (nearly a year ago, can you believe it?). A big thank you for all the favorites, follows, and reviews, and another thank you for being added to a community. I sincerely hope you all continue to support me as a writer in the future, even you anonymous stalkers out there. ;)

 **PaperGirlInAPaperTown:** Thank you again for all the kind words, I'm truly glad you've enjoyed my story so much. And yes, Jamie did deserve a break...this fic hasn't been all that kind to anyone, but Jamie was definitely getting a bit of a kicking there for a bit.

 **Skyress1:** So Randy's a familiar name, huh? As I've mentioned before, most of the names I pick for my OCs are chosen deliberately for their meanings and how they pertain to the characters, but a few just sort of stick at random and sound good, so I keep them. Randy's was one of the latter. And most of the kids mentioned last chapter were introduced before, but with the exception of Troy Bellings we haven't seen any of them since chapter one or two, or something crazy like that. (We saw Troy a couple of chapters back when Jack returned to Burgess to see him because of that note Troy left under his pillow. It _was_ quite a while ago time-wise, so it's understandable if you don't remember him either.)

 **TetraForce214:** I would definitely consider writing more about Cassandra, but only if I'm struck with the right inspiration stick. I tend to sort of float along with a couple of random ideas stuck in my head for quite a while and then *boom* a full/almost full idea pops into being, and that's when I actually sit down to start a fic. So we'll both just have to wait and see, unfortunately.

 **Yellowmiki98:** Hey, someone new. Hello! :D I truly love and appreciate the praise, thank you so very much.

And for the last time (for this story at least *bittersweet sobbing*) please enjoy!

* * *

It was many months before the furor over Cassandra Fisher's disappearance began to die down. By Thanksgiving time, Barb realized it had been more than a week since she'd seen a news article or overheard a conversation regarding the case. A missing child alert had been issued the same night Cassandra had gone missing, but little ever came of it. Outside of Burgess, it seemed too few cared enough about a runaway twelve year old for the story to last in mainstream media.

 _Cassandra was right,_ Barb sadly thought. _If she'd died as a child no one would've missed her. She lived for twelve long years and hardly a soul beyond this town even noticed, let alone cared._

It was a very depressing thing to contemplate, so she actively tried not to.

Barb had to admit that the entire ordeal had been extremely hard on her. The grueling police interviews and standing as a witness in Randy Fisher's trial had been bad, yes, but being alone in her house was worse. Jamie Bennett stopped by from time to time, often with his sister in tow, but he had his own problems to deal with and so the visits were few and far between. Cassandra came to see her too, as promised, but they were always exceptionally bittersweet affairs. Her heart would soar like a cloud when she saw the changed child emerge from the shadows, and then she'd break down and cry like a baby once Cassandra left and she was alone again.

If it hadn't been for Salvaguard (who spent so little time in his Chihuahua form now, she'd had to start telling people that Barney had died), Barb knew she would've slipped into another depression. Truly, the Cadejon was her rock, once which she was ever grateful for.

Late one night, just as Barb was getting ready for bed, she heard a knock on her door. She paused in the process of pulling down the covers, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. Who the heck could it be at this time of night?

Peering around the doorway, she saw Salvaguard lying down in the hall. The Cadejon was awake and alert, but his entire body was relaxed, and when she caught his eye he said nothing to her at all. He just…looked at her.

Huh. Usually he would warn her if there was someone strange or potentially dangerous at the door, or at least let her know if it was someone either of them knew. For him to say nothing at all was bizarre.

The knocking sounded again, louder and more demanding than before. Casting off Salvaguard's odd behavior with a shrug, Barb went to answer the door.

Two people stood on her doorstep, one of which was a glowering teenager. Barb blinked, a bit thrown by the fact that she was unable to discern whether they were a boy or a girl. The oversized clothes, close-cut hair (which was dyed black, with unnaturally red highlights), and multiple facial piercings made it impossible to tell one way or the other.

"Can I…help you?" she asked, unsure of what else to say.

Her hesitant question was answered with a sharp one in return. "You Barb?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Taylor."

"Taylor. Nice to meet you."

Well, the name wasn't a clue as to the kid's gender either, since the moniker was unisex. And at this age, it was often difficult to tell one way or the other by voice or physique alone, as puberty could do some remarkable and bizarre things with children's bodies and vocal cords.

The teenaged stranger said nothing. Barb noticed a backpack slung over their shoulder, as well as the white-knuckled grip currently clutching at the straps. The kid was trying to be tough, and surely looked the part, but that one detail was telling.

"Where are you from, Taylor?"

Taylor glanced at the person standing beside them, seeking reassurance—and getting it via a tiny nod—before answering.

"Connecticut."

"That's a long ways away."

Taylor said nothing.

"How old are you Taylor?"

Another sideways glance, another nod of encouragement. "Fourteen." Taylor then raised their chin and announced with a sneer, "I'm a lesbian."

"Ah," Barb said, for that declaration answered two of the many questions compiling in her head. "I see. I take it your parents didn't take the news very well?"

Taylor seemed taken aback by Barb's lack of reaction. Her jaw sagged as she stared, dumbfounded, before those blue eyes darted wildly to the side again, clearly wondering just what in the hell was going on.

Barb sighed quietly.

"Hello, Cassandra."

Taylor's head whipped around so fast, she was lucky she didn't get whiplash. "You can see her too?"

"Yes, I can."

Taylor's whole demeanor changed in an instant. Her sour expression, defiant tone and rigid posture relaxed simultaneously. "Oh, thank god," she said. "I thought I was going insane!"

Barb laughed quietly. "No, no you're not insane. You just believe." Readjusting her bathrobe against the chilly November wind, Barb told Taylor, "Three rules of the house: nothing illegal, do your homework, respect bedtime. Think you can handle that?"

Taylor gaped, blinked, then said a bit weakly, "Yeah. Yeah, I think I can."

Barb smiled. "Good." Stepping back from the doorway, she said warmly, invitingly, "Come on in. For now, let's see about rule number three. In the morning we'll chat."

Taylor needed no further encouragement. Entering the house, she stood beside the kitchen table, studying the colors and the general layout of the place while Barb took a moment to acknowledge the spirit still standing on her doorstep.

"Are you going to make a habit out of this?" she asked.

"Most definitely," was the response.

Barb eyed the girl-spirit before gently closing the door, a small smile brightening her face.

And that was how the Cassandra Fisher House for Vulnerable Youth got its start. Though of course, the official story wasn't _quite_ as remarkable, considering its notable lack of spirit involvement.

* * *

"Nice work, kid."

Cassandra sneered at the spirit who had appeared out of nowhere and was now floating beside her, an enormous grin plastered on his stupid pale face.

"Get lost, Frost," she snapped. She didn't have her cloak hood up—Taylor had been far too wary of her with it on, a fear which Cassandra had respected—meaning she was forced to deal with Frost's childish antics without emotional control. It was never a preferable situation, but she was learning to handle the lot of them, even when they insisted on butting into her business for absolutely no reason.

Sensing their master's fouling mood, her pegasus snorted irritably, a puff of hot air that birthed a thin wisp of fog in the cool, moonless night. Yet their wings continued to flap slowly, deliberately, keeping them aloft above the rooftops of Burgess. As deeply as the Nightmares still resented and detested the Guardians, they understood that unless a real threat was being posed they had no business taking command of a situation. They would not snap their teeth or fly off without their master's permission.

"I mean it," Frost said, looking as sincere as he sounded. Even the dumb smile had disappeared, as if that alone should convince her he was telling the truth. "That was great, what you did."

"I'm just surprised a kid that old still believed."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. She turned her head ever so slightly to give Bunnymund—crouched on the lip of a nearby rooftop so he could speak on-level with her and Frost—a cold look.

"She didn't," she said. "Or should I say…she doesn't. Not in the traditional sense. She was rejected by her family and all-but banished from the small town in which she lived, with no money and no idea how to keep herself alive."

"She was terrified," Frost said quietly.

"Yes. Both the Dark Ages and the fiasco in Burgess before I was born proved one thing: regardless of age, the more afraid a human is the more apt they are to believe something is there even when nothing is. Superstitious ones are even more susceptible to such fear, because they're far less dismissive of the unexplained, no matter how insignificant. The slightest noise, the tiniest flicker of shadow, whether harmless or not, terrifies the vulnerable, be they innocent children or victimized teens or superstitious adults, and that great fear is what enables them to see, if only for a brief moment."

"So her belief won't last long," Bunnymund surmised.

"If she still believes in me in a year's time, I'll be shocked," Cassandra admitted, not that she had a problem with it. She wasn't out to gather believers, but to offer help, and if the vast majority of those who accepted said help wound up forgetting all about her relatively quickly, well, Cassandra was perfectly fine with that. Her agreement with Morsoi and her own personal feelings on the matter notwithstanding, she knew the Adjudicating Eye wouldn't stand for her to possess hoards of believers (especially older ones) after the chaos her predecessor had caused.

Such was the reason the black metal globe had remained—to serve both as a reminder and as a warning not to upset the precarious balance between the human and spirit worlds.

Finding the equilibrium between dark and light, fear and hope, had been difficult. Cassandra wasn't fool enough to believe she could save everyone, of course—not only was it beyond her scope of power, it was irresponsible. Fear could come in many, many forms, and often went hand-in-hand with pain or misery or suffering. If she saved every child who endured those things, no one would ever take the initiative to help themselves. They'd never grow up wanting to be better, to make the world better, or to help others who'd borne similar conditions, because they'd all be too busy lying around waiting for someone else to come rescue them. Suffering and terror could do terrible things to a child, yes, but enduring and outliving such wretchedness could spark bravery and determination and compassion in their hearts that couldn't be found by any other means.

At the same time, though, she just couldn't stand to leave things the way they were. The world was slowly becoming overwhelmed with fear of the sort the Guardians' believers were largely ignorant of…which meant the Guardians were blissfully ignorant of it too. In her flights over and across the world, Cassandra had felt the fear of children who were beaten, starved, tortured, enslaved; kids who were bullied and rejected by their peers; kids who were told they were stupid and worthless and unlovable until they sincerely believed it; children who were desperate to end it, just _end_ _it_ , but were too scared of what would happen if they failed (or succeeded) to actually try.

It was a time bomb just waiting to explode, and nothing was being done about it because the Guardians were too busy being overprotective of their own believers to bother with children who didn't see or know them.

In Cassandra's mind, it was absolutely intolerable. She knew what it felt like to be an invisible child—someone whose misery went largely unnoticed and who could drop off the face of the earth without anyone realizing. Despite Barb's attempts to keep the news from her, Cassandra was fully aware of the fact that the furor over her "running away" had all but ceased to exist, and it had only been a couple of months. Really, if it hadn't been for Barb and Mr. Bennett and the fact that Burgess was such a small town, she knew no one would have noticed or cared at all.

Her predecessor's situation had been much the same, what with how he'd disappeared into the parasite's possession without anyone ever knowing, which only made the present state of the world even more insufferable for Cassandra.

 _Darkness is deepest after gazing into the light_.

Cassandra clenched her teeth. The words that had once confounded her possessed a double meaning: In a literal sense, one could associate the phrase to the sort of disorientation a person endured whenever they entered a dark space directly after being exposed to bright light. Far more important—both in terms of the present situation and the matter with the parasite—was the figurative meaning, for that was when the phrase pertained to the indescribable pain someone felt whenever they saw just how wonderful and enjoyable life _could_ be…but wasn't. When someone dwelled in emotional and psychological darkness with no sense of hope or self-worth, seeing others live happy, carefree lives redoubled their own internal agony, for then they were left to wonder: _Why? Why_ _can't I have that too?_ After gazing into the light of those bright eyes and contented smiles, facing the gloom of their own reality was like staring into the terrible black void of a bottomless abyss—impenetrable, insurmountable, inescapable.

A truly devastating thing for a child to try to bear.

Taylor was the first to be spared from such darkness and fear, and certainly wouldn't be the last. But even if Cassandra could only save a handful more, she knew it would be enough to keep those new, ugly fears from seeping so far into the world as to cross a point of no return.

After all, if she didn't keep her own powers in careful check she would become as great a hypocrite as the Guardians.

"Any rate," Bunnymund grumbled, rudely breaking into Cassandra's thoughts. "Nice work."

"Yeah," Jack butted in with a grin. "Keep it up, and all that good stuff."

Cassandra's lip curled. She made to pull the pegasus' reins so as to turn and fly away from the Guardians, but the Pooka's next words stopped her mid-tug.

"One piece of advice: I know you and Morsoi are gonna be working together from now on—on what, I really don't know and honestly don't wanna know—but you watch yourself around him."

"I've done a fine job of that so far, in case you haven't noticed," Cassandra coolly pointed out.

Rather than accept her words at face-value, though, the Pooka reiterated, "I mean it, kid. I don't trust him any more than I can touch the sun, never have. But the way he's been acting lately just ain't right."

"If you mean what happened with the Bennetts—"

"He's right," Jack interrupted, a concerned frown having replaced his stupid smile. "Be careful, Fisher. Morsoi's up to something, and I don't like it."

"And whatever you do," Bunnymund added, "don't take anything from him, no matter how innocent it appears."

Cassandra opened her mouth to tell the rabbit he was completely and utterly _stupid_ if he thought she didn't know that by now, but the words became stuck in her throat when the full breadth of what he was insinuating struck her unexpectedly.

Instead of uttering a condescending retort, her face twisted into a look of complete disgust.

"You _do_ realize that I'm _twelve_ ," she said. "And it's never going to happen." The mere suggestion of such a thing was beyond revolting.

The rabbit spirit looked at her, emerald eyes grave and unblinking. "I once said Jack would never be a Guardian, and that we never should've trusted him." His voice turned grim. "And you need to remember, Fisher: you ain't gonna be twelve forever."

He leapt from the roof, disappearing into the alleys of Burgess. Catching Frost's eye, Cassandra saw the boy-spirit shrug before he dived away on the wind, flying off after his friend.

Once she was alone again, Cassandra found herself suppressing a shudder. How could the Guardians even _suggest_ such a thing? It was absolutely absurd!

Obsidian spoke up suddenly. _Do not trust the tainted one_.

 _Do not trust him,_ Timber reiterated in an uncharacteristically firm tone. With a whicker that sounded almost like a hiss of repugnance, she added, _The tainted one is tricky._

 _Yes, very tricky._

 _He is certainly cunning,_ Onyx said, speaking for the first time that night. Her tone was neutral, as it often was, but this time Cassandra knew the mare was forcing herself to remain so. Clearly she had much stronger opinions about the spirit of pestilence and plague than she was willing to let on.

Drawing up the hood of her cloak, Cassandra inquired of her mares, "Are you suggesting the rabbit's warning was necessary?"

 _Ridiculous!_ Timber whinnied, the sound carrying on the wind. It seemed the very suggestion that she agreed with a Guardian about anything was deeply insulting.

 _We only mean it as we said it,_ Obsidian told her master.

 _The tricky one is tricky, do not trust!_

Ah. So they _weren't_ agreeing with the Pooka, necessarily, just pointing out how untrustworthy Morsoi was.

…as if she didn't know that already.

Deciding to let the pointless conversation die, Cassandra dug into her pocket to switch on her iPod. After stuffing the headphones into her ears, she finally followed through with pulling the pegasus around by the reins and, with a gentle nudge of her heels, spurred them on into the night.

There were still a few hours left before dawn. She figured they might as well take advantage of that.


End file.
